Transformation
by TheKi'liki
Summary: A duel gone wrong traps Harry in the body of a cat with no memory and under the control of Draco Malfoy. Will Hermione be able to change him back before Draco gives him over to the Dark Lord? Dramione.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

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**Chapter 1 — The Change**

"Quiet Hermione," Harry hissed, glancing anxiously up and down the torch-lit corridor.

"I still don't see why we couldn't have used the invisibility cloak," she muttered as they crept through the shadows. "Or the map. They would have saved us a whole lot of trouble."

"Because I don't want to risk something happening to them if this goes wrong," Harry explained yet again. "Come on."

With a final glance behind him and a soft, "Alohamora," Harry ducked into an abandoned classroom, pulling a reluctant Hermione along behind him. If only McGonagall hadn't destroyed the Room of Requirement — it would have been perfect for this! As it was, they would have to make due with the stone cold classroom and hope that nobody would find them.

Guilt bit into Harry once again. Dumbledore was dead and he, Harry, had done nothing to prevent it. Hermione might argue that he had been under Dumbledore's spell at the time — "What _could_ you have done?" — but Harry would never forgive himself for watching while Snape, that murderous traitor, killed Dumbledore in cold blood.

At least Dumbledore had trusted him to hunt down and destroy the Horcruxes — or so he had thought. But a few days before Harry's birthday, when he would have been legally free to set out on his search, the Order had appeared at the Dursley's home and shown him Dumbledore's will. In it, Dumbledore clearly stated that it was crucial for Harry to finish school before embarking on his search for Voldemort. Harry didn't understand why — what had Hogwarts left to teach him, anyway? But Dumbledore never said nor did anything without a reason, so for once Harry shut his mouth, packed his bags, and returned to Hogwarts as a 7th year student.

Of course, returning to Hogwarts didn't mean that he planned to give up fighting. On the contrary, Harry's hatred for Voldemort and his leech, Snape, had flamed into an all-consuming fire. Which is why he was in a cold abandoned classroom at 2:00 at night.

Hermione watched with concern as Harry paused in the doorway, his eyes glazing over with memory. Once again, she was glad that Harry had decided not to tell Ron what they were doing. Not only would Ron's ineptitude at Transfiguration have slowed them down, but his tactless comments would have made Harry's decision harder than it already was. Not to mention that Ron's absence meant Hermione didn't have to deal with him any more than she had to.

She didn't know why she let the redhead affect her so much. He was a nuisance – hadn't all their arguing last summer proven as much? Breaking up had almost been a relief. She could finally get on with her life…as Ron had certainly gotten on with his.

Hermione scowled and Harry, breaking out of his own thoughts, saw the scowl and misinterpreted it. "This is the last time, I promise. One more draught is all we need, right? Then we should be permanent Animagi."

"We?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "Don't you mean _you_?"

These last few months had shown them both quite clearly that there was something that Hermione — brown-eyed, bushy-haired Hermione, the smartest witch in their year — could not do. She could not transform into an Animagi.

It didn't make any sense. She had spent hours under Harry's invisibility cloak in the Restricted Section of the library, learning how to brew the potion and how to perform the wand motions and incantations that would eventually let them transform at will into their inner beast. She knew she had done it right because the last few times they'd met, Harry had successfully made the partial transformation that preceded the ability to transform into the entire animal. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not change even a hair.

"Maybe you just need the final dose," Harry suggested uncomfortably. "Then I bet you could do it."

Hermione nodded. It was worth a shot. "Here we go." She handed Harry a vial and held one up herself. "Cheers," she said dully, and together they downed the potion.

_Change_, Hermione though desperately. She had drunk the potion, performed the enchantments…by all rights, her body should now possess the power of instant metamorphosis. _Change_.

A bead of sweat rolled into her eye and broke her concentration. She was still 100% Hermione Granger. Harry, on the other hand…

…was happily pouncing around the classroom, leaping onto desks and chairs several times taller than he was and then jumping off again, always landing on all four feet.

Eventually he stopped in front of her and, in spite of her misery at not being able to transform, Hermione couldn't help admire the animal he had become. He was a handsome black housecat with silken fur and delicate pink-padded paws. His eyes were his own – a startling emerald green, but they fit the cat he had become, making him look luminous and mysterious all at once.

Suddenly the cat was gone, and the boy Harry was back.

"Congratulations," Hermione said, forcing herself to smile.

"Thanks," Harry said. He looked jubilant, but at the same time downcast. At her questioning look, he elaborated. "I was kind of hoping that I would be a stag like my dad, or even a dog like Sirius."

"But this is so much better!" Hermione exclaimed, practical as ever. "Cats are so common – you're used to sticking out no matter where you go, but as a cat you could go anywhere and nobody would care."

"Anywhere…," Harry began slowly, "…like a Death Eater's meeting?"

Hermione instantly saw the advantage of his suggestion. "They'd think you were one of theirs! All Animagi are supposed to be registered, and they'd never think that any of us — well, you," she rushed on, ignoring the dismay that swept through her, "would be capable of doing this at our age, without training. They'd never suspect!"

"Yeah," said Harry, beginning to get excited. "Yeah! I need to practice more, though. I interpret things differently as a cat. It's going to take a bit of practice to get these instincts under control."

With that, he transformed once more into a cat. Hermione watched him prance around the room without really seeing him. Why couldn't she turn into an animal too? Though the process was complicated, she had performed it all correctly, and she had never heard of anyone coming this far and not being able to make the transformation.

"Maybe I just don't have an inner beast," she murmured out loud.

"Ever try a bookworm?" a sarcastic voice asked from behind her.

Hermione let out a small gasp and whirled around, pointing her wand at the tall boy who was casually leaning against the wall.

She had shut the door, she was certain of it, and neither she nor Harry, with his sharp, feline ears, had heard the Slytherin come in. That must mean he had been here…

"—the whole time Granger, that's right," he smirked. "If you and Potthead were any less observant, you'd rival Crabbe and Goyle."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione bit out, trying desperately to think. Harry hadn't changed back yet, which meant he probably didn't have his cat senses entirely under control. The Quintessential Animagi had said it could take several minutes, especially for those just learning how to transform. How long had it been? Harry was crouched at her feet, looking bemusedly from Hermione to Malfoy and back again.

"_Tsk_, _tsk_, temper Granger. You ought to be more careful," Malfoy drawled, the smirk never leaving his face. "Once McGonagall expels you, there will be no one to protect you. That temper of yours could get you into trouble." Hermione didn't miss the meaningful way the boy rested his wand against his left forearm, and at that small action, she exploded.

"You ungrateful maggot! If the Order didn't have the decency you lack, you'd be dead by now. I don't know how you convinced McGonagall to let you back into this school, and I don't care if it was actually Snape who said the words or not, you're a cold-blooded killer and you are less than the scum on the bottom of my shoes!"

Malfoy whipped out his wand faster than an attacking adder, and Hermione's gaze shot to it, so she missed the quick blinking of his eyes as the truth of her words hit home.

"Your precious _Dumbledore_ deserved to die!" he snarled. "Dumbledore's Army? You lot couldn't even stop _Snape_, how do you expect to take on Voldemort? Once I tell the Minister about your breaking the Animagi-Control Act, you two will be in Azkaban, and I will personally be there when You-Know-Who gives the order for the Dementors to suck your souls!"

For once, Hermione didn't think, she just acted. "Obliviate!" she shouted, just as Malfoy yelled, "Imperio!" Neither of them saw the confusion in the cat's eyes clear, nor saw him leap towards Malfoy just as the two teens cast their spells.

The two streams of magic hit Harry full on. A blinding flash of light illuminated every crevice in the room, and a soundless blast momentarily deafened them.

When the lightning cleared from their eyes, the two students looked down. The cat that was Harry Potter lay curled up on the floor, dead.

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**Please review! Whether you love it or hate it, I want to know.**

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I've gone ahead and attached a chapter summary to the end of each chapter, in case you need a quick reminder of the storyline.

**Chapter 1 Summary:**

Harry and Hermione are in the final stages of become Animagi. Harry successfully transforms into a cat, but Hermione cannot make the change. Draco witnesses the transfiguration, and a duel of spells between him and Hermione strikes Harry instead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 2 — Hostage**

Hermione and Draco stared at the motionless body on the floor.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered. "Harry!"

She dropped to her knees and picked up the cat with trembling hands, shaking it lightly. "Harry, please don't be dead. Wake up!"

Slowly, a thin-veined lid slid open and a glittering green eye peered back at her. The cat's other eye soon followed suit.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione gasped. "He was only stunned."

"What a pity," a cutting voice responded, startling Hermione, who had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room. "It would have been a delightful irony if one of the Golden Trio had brought an end to the Boy Who Lived. Would have saved Voldemort a lot of trouble."

Malfoy relished in the rage that bloomed over Hermione's face, delighting in the control that his words managed to bring back to him. His hands instantly stopped their quivering, though the girl had never even noticed them trembling. For one awful second, he had thought they really _had_ killed Harry Potter. There was no way he would have been able to stay at Hogwarts, what with Dumbledore's murder shadowing him like a Dementor, and now Harry Potter's…. Not to mention that the Dark Lord would have been _very_ displeased. He wanted to finish off Potter on his own, and had explicitly forbidden any loyal Slytherins from doing the job for him. Draco would have been an exile in truth, hunted by both light and dark wizards alike.

"How can you be so cruel?" Hermione growled, glaring up at the blond-haired boy. "Oh, yes, I forgot. You really _are_ a cold-blooded killer." Her attention shifted. "Harry, no, you shouldn't move yet! There might be after-effects…." She ignored Malfoy as Harry, paying her no heed, jumped off her lap and stalked towards the Slytherin. Malfoy sneered and aimed a kick at the feline, but it agilely dodged his sneaker. Suddenly, it stopped; the sparkling of Malfoy's silver shoelaces had caught its attention.

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Malfoy glared as the cat began to paw at his shoe. "Get off me, Potter!" The cat, which was not actually touching Malfoy, ignored him. "What in the blazes is wrong with you? Desist!"

Harry's paw froze in the middle of a swat. The unnaturalness of his reaction caught both of the humans' attention.

"Harry?" Hermione asked softly. "Why aren't you changing back? Change back, Harry."

The cat just sat there. It lowered its paw and began to lick its fur.

"Obliviate…imperio…" Hermione's eyes widened in horror. She grabbed Harry's face with both hands. "Change back!" she ordered. The cat yowled indignantly and clawed at her face, leaping away. Hermione sat there, stunned, ignoring the two streaks of blood that were dripping down her cheek.

"He's lost his memory. And he must be under the imperious curse, which is why he listened to Malfoy," she exclaimed, thinking out loud. "As a cat, he won't be able to fight off the curse, and with no memory, he won't even want to."

Draco saw the full realization of what their spells had done hit the brunette. Just as suddenly, he realized what it was she had said.

"He's under the imperious curse? Awesome. Do a somersault," he ordered Harry, and burst into raucous laughter at the sight of the black ball of fur attempting to carry out his command.

"Stop it Malfoy!" Hermione said angrily, grabbing his arm. Instantly, his good mood vanished.

"Get off me!" he shouted, flinging her away. "Mudblood filth," he muttered, wiping off his arm where she had touched him on the skirt of his robe.

"I mean it Malfoy," Hermione said, for once ignoring the slur. "You know how dangerous it is to be Obliviated! And people can't stay in animal form for too long, or they start to forget that they're human. Without his memories, Harry won't know he's not a cat! Tell him to change back."

Malfoy stared at her. He opened his mouth to obey, then slowly closed it. "No," he said instead.

"What?"

"I…said…no." He smirked at the look of utter bewilderment on the young witch's face.

She stared at him, realization dawning in her eyes. "You wouldn't," she whispered.

"I would."

"I'll tell."

"You'll do no such thing." He pushed her against the wall, his wand pointing threateningly at her throat.

"What are you going to do? Hex me? I have faster reflexes than you do, and I guarantee you that any hexing I do will be permanent."

To emphasize her point, Hermione wiggled her wand slightly, drawing attention to where Malfoy's attack had caught it between their bodies. It was pointed at a most unfortunate location…for Malfoy.

Scowling furiously, he backed away, his wand still pointed at the girl. "You won't tell," he bit out, "because if you do, I'll tell Potter to kill himself."

"They'd stop you," Hermione began doubtfully.

"You know as well as I that they wouldn't be able to do anything. One second is all I need, and your precious _Potter_ has just choked to death on a hairball."

Hermione's brain raced furiously. She did not doubt that Malfoy would make good on his threat. Perhaps it would be better to buy time. She could tell McGonagall, and together they would find a way to free Harry.

As if he sensed her thoughts, Malfoy added dangerously, "But just to make sure that you don't say anything…Expelliarmus!"

Hermione gasped as her wand suddenly flew out of her hand and into Malfoy's. She held herself very still. She was utterly defenseless.

Malfoy laughed, enjoying the sudden look of fear in the Mudblood's eyes. This was quite a…_tasty_…situation. But there were too many unknowns tonight for him to take advantage of it, and in truth he was still shaken from almost killing Harry Potter. He had better ensure the Mudblood's silence now — he couldn't risk having her blabber their story to some professor and getting him expelled.

"You will swear a Binding Vow," Malfoy said slowly, "that you will not mention anything even remotely connected with this night to anyone else, ever."

"A Binding Vow?" Hermione asked ignorantly, biding for time. The teachers' patrol should be coming around soon, and maybe if she screamed…but Malfoy would still have his one second to destroy the hope of the Wizarding world. She couldn't do anything.

"A modification of the Unbreakable Vow," Malfoy smirked, well aware of her dilemma. "You don't imagine that Voldemort would willingly give up his wand to someone else, even for a short time, do you? He created it." What Malfoy didn't tell Granger was that Voldemort had gotten lazy and stopped using it, due to the energy it required from both participants. The Dark Lord thought fear was enough to control his followers, and Malfoy knew that he and Granger would not even be having this conversation if Voldemort had made him swear it.

Hermione's face blanched at the thought of putting herself under a spell created by Voldemort, but she didn't see that she had any other choice — Malfoy was still holding her wand. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing." Malfoy began to chant, a weird, serpentine language that reminded Hermione of Parseltongue until she realized, it _was_ Parseltongue. He started to glow and several bands of white and green light began to wrap themselves in infinity loops around the two wands. They hovered there, waiting for the words that would seal the spell.

"From this point on," Malfoy began, his words reverberating around the room with a deepness not normally characteristic of his voice, "Granger will make no mention of any events associated with her and Potter's _attempt_," his lip curled as he looked at the girl, "to become Animagi or any of the events that happened between sundown and sunrise this night to anyone or anything not currently present in this room. Now, swear."

Hermione cast her mind around frantically, searching for a loop-hole in his promise. She couldn't find one. "I swear," she said at last.

At her words, the bands of light hovering over the wands contracted suddenly, seeping into the woods. Suddenly, two rays of light shot out, striking Hermione and Malfoy in the chest.

The two teens picked themselves up slowly. The room was dark.

"Lumos," Malfoy whispered, and a faint glow spread out from his wand, softly illuminating the room.

"Come along, Potter," Malfoy sneered, heading out the classroom door. Harry padded along after him. "Oh, and Granger," Malfoy said, pausing in the doorway. "This vow _is_ like its predecessor in one respect – if you break it, you die. And, need I remind you, so will your precious Potter."

With that he was gone, taking the light with him. Hermione stood alone in the darkness, her chest heaving heavily for several minutes. Finally, she gathered her courage, if not her wits, and started back for her common room. A few feet from the classroom, her foot struck something, and it skidded away from her, bouncing off a wall and coming to a rest several feet away.

She walked towards it slowly and picked it up, her fingers recognizing its contours as one recognizes the body of a lover. It was her wand.

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**Chapter 2 Summary:**

A duel of spells between Draco and Hermione leaves Harry in the body of a cat, without his memory, and under Draco's control. Draco binds Hermione to secrecy under penalty of death.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 3 — Lies**

Hermione awoke the next day with a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Please let it all have been a dream," she prayed as she went down to breakfast. She paused for a moment before entering the Great Hall, then shook her head at her folly — waiting would not change the truth — took a deep breath, and stepped inside. There sat Ron, and on either side of him were two empty seats — one was hers, and the other was Harry's.

"Morning," she said dully, sinking into her seat. _Please let Ron be oblivious, please let Ron be oblivious…._

"Hermione, there you are. Have you seen Harry? I couldn't find him at all this morning, and his bed didn't look slept in," Ron asked through a mouthful of sausage.

Hermione for once was grateful for her head of bushy hair, since it hid her face as she lied, "No, I haven't. Maybe he had a meeting with Professor McGonagall."

"Yeah, maybe." The casual way Ron went back to his food hit Hermione hard. She still wasn't used to just being friends again. She put on her best mask of indifference and turned to talk to Ginny, taking advantage of her friend's location to glance at the table where Draco Malfoy usually sat. His seat was also empty. Ginny, who had been watching Ron and Hermione with concern, assumed that Hermione's expression had to do with the red-haired boy unconcernedly making his way through a laden plate, and hurried to distract her.

Their small talk was interrupted by the morning mail. A large barn owl swooped down, depositing the _Daily Prophet_ in the middle of Hermione's breakfast. With a grimace of disgust, she wiped the strawberry jam off her paper and offered the bird a bronze Knut and a drink from her goblet, which it accepted gratefully before taking to the air again.

"Anything interesting?" Ginny asked.

"No, nothing," Hermione replied, not sure whether to be pleased or suspicious. Dumbledore's death had hit the Ministry harder than it would like to admit. They made no mention of Voldemort's activities other than a warning that he was out there. Well, at least they were finally admitting to that. "Oh, goody, they have a _Fiendishly Difficult Crossword Puzzle_ today," Hermione said with a hint of her old spirit, and began to attack the checkered box.

A loud hooting disrupted her concentration. Hermione looked up to see a spectacled owl hovering low over the table. It flitted anxiously from one end of the hall to the other, sometimes dipping down to gaze into a person's face before flapping back up again.

"Blimey, what's its problem?" Ron growled as the owl's close approach knocked a piece of toast from his hand. "Who do you reckon it's looking for?"

Hermione was saved from trying to devise an answer when the owl gave one last hoot and flew off. She had the disturbing notion that she knew who it had been trying to find.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Hermione barely arrived to Transfiguration on time. She had spent her entire morning in the library, hastily pulling out every possible reference on Animagi and Imperius curses. She had even used the pass Professor Flitwick had given her last week to look in the Restricted Section. All her books told her the same thing: it _was_ possible to force someone who had transformed into an Animagi back into their original form, but it would require a level of transfiguration that most adults never achieved. Hermione would need at least a year to learn how to do it properly, and she dared not hurry — the consequences could be deadly. The only person Hermione knew who might have the ability to change Harry back safely was Professor McGonagall, and Malfoy had made certain that she couldn't ask her for help.

Malfoy. That was the other problem. Even if she could change Harry back into his original form, he would still be under the Imperius curse. Without his memories to help him fight it, the only way the curse could be broken was if the enchanter lifted it, or died. _I will not murder_, Hermione thought fiercely, _not even Malfoy, no matter what he has done. There must be another way. _

But she could not think of one, and with a start she realized that her morning had flown by, and she was going to be late to class.

Professor McGonagall cast her a stern look as she slipped into her seat, but did not say anything, for which Hermione was profoundly grateful. Her luck ran out though, at the end of class.

"Miss Granger, a word, if you would," Professor McGonagall said as Hermione prepared to follow the other students out the door.

"Of course," she replied, ignoring the trepidation rising in her chest. Hermione waited as McGonagall packed up her things, and then followed the Headmistress through the crowded halls of Hogwarts; the babbling mass of students gradually faded away as they neared the teachers' quarters.

"Sugar Quill," McGonagall commanded briskly, stopping in front of the large gargoyle that guarded her office. It had scarcely finished moving aside before the headmistress swept into the room, with Hermione shuffling reluctantly behind her.

Hermione let her eyes roam over the portraits of the past heads of Hogwarts as she walked inside. The newest addition hung just to the left of the chair in which McGonagall now sat. Smiling blue eyes twinkled out at her; the warm and wise man she had come to love was now no more than oils on canvas, Hermione realized sadly. McGonagall's voice broke her thoughts.

"We all miss him," she said gently, indicating with a sweep of her hand that Hermione should sit down. "But he is part of the reason that I brought you here. Tell me Hermione, have you seen Harry?"

"Um, not recently, Professor," Hermione stuttered, which was true. Malfoy had not been at breakfast.

"I see," McGonagall said. Her eyes did not have the same piercing quality that Dumbledore's had, but right now they seemed to gaze right through the young girl. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

"Hermione," McGonagall said, leaning forward slightly. Hermione was startled to hear her first name proceed from the Headmistress' mouth. "Do you know that a Horcrux was destroyed the other day?"

"But…but that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, confused.

"Indeed. Apparently Mundungus took it upon himself to remove a locket containing a Horcrux from the Black house for its 'protection.'" Hermione had never heard her professor scoff, but McGonagall's tone was treading remarkably close to contempt. "Regardless, it has been reobtained and destroyed."

"So that just leaves three left," Hermione began. "Harry will be pleased—" Hermione cut her words off abruptly, but it was too late. McGonagall's eyes sharpened on her once again. _Why, oh why did I mention Harry_?

"Where _is_ Mr. Potter?" the Headmistress asked sternly, never taking her eyes from Hermione's face. When Hermione didn't answer right away, she continued, "I sent him an owl with the news that I have just disclosed to you, since he was so upset at not being able to look for the Horcruxes himself. The owl has returned to me with its letter intact." McGonagall indicated a post off to the side, and Hermione lifted her gaze from the floor long enough to catch sight of a spectacled owl munching happily on a rodent, before fixing her eyes resolutely on the rug-strewn stone again. "An owl can find a wizard halfway around the world without trouble, but it cannot find your Mr. Potter. So I ask you again, where is he?"

"He…" Hermione searched her mind desperately, looking for a response, a way out, anything. How she hated Malfoy! "He left."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He wanted to look for the Horcruxes himself. He thought that because Dumbledore told him to do it, he was the only one who could."

"Dumbledore also told him to finish school."

"For no apparent reason," Hermione argued desperately. "Dumbledore's other orders came first."

"And he left you and Mr. Weasley behind?" McGonagall raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Harry said it was too dangerous. Ron doesn't even know yet. I…I only know because I saw him leave." Hermione hid her face, which was scarlet. She had never lied to a professor before. She sat in terror of McGonagall's next words, which would tear her falsehood apart.

Instead, McGonagall was silent. She contemplated the young witch for several moments, then said, "And you have no idea where he is?"

Hermione shook her head violently.

"Very well. You _will_ let me know as soon as you hear from him. I don't think I need to remind you of the danger he is in?"

_No, Professor, of that I am fully aware_, Hermione thought bitterly. She shook her head.

"Then you are excused." The headmistress watched as the girl snatched up her satchel and scurried out the door. It was only when the gargoyle had sealed the entrance behind her that she let out a sigh.

"She's lying to me, isn't she? I never would have thought it," McGonagall murmured sadly to the portrait behind her.

"We must trust her judgment," it replied kindly. "After all, this _is_ Miss Granger. If she refuses to tell us Harry's whereabouts, then she must have a very good reason."

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**Chapter 3 Summary:**

McGonagall questions Hermione about Harry's whereabouts after an owl she sends cannot find him, and Hermione is forced to lie.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 4 — Plans**

Hermione Granger had never been one to give in to self-loathing, but at that moment she hated Malfoy, she hated magic, and most of all, she hated herself.

_If only I hadn't let him talk me into becoming Animagi. If only I hadn't tried to hex Malfoy. If only…._

She doubted very much that McGonagall had bought her story, but at least the Headmistress hadn't tried to use Veristaserum on her. Hermione did not think that a Binding Vow would excuse her for breaking it, even under the powerful truth serum. Harry would have been doomed, and she would have been dead.

The chiming of the Great Clock Tower brought her back to her senses. She had missed Charms, but she could still make it to Potions if she hurried.

Fortunately for her, the room was still half empty by the time she arrived. She slid into an empty seat and began unloading her bag. She had just started to note down the necessary ingredients for the day's lessons when the door slammed open, and Draco Malfoy sauntered into the room.

Hermione didn't want to look; she told herself that she would keep her gaze firmly on her paper and not look up…but of course, the instant she resolved to do that, her gaze fixed on the flaxen-haired Slytherin ambling to his seat. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him on either side as always, but a third creature was shadowing him today as well. Hermione's face paled as she caught sight of the small black feline trotting contentedly at Malfoy's heels.

Malfoy caught her gaze and smirked widely. He changed his direction and slid smoothly into the seat beside Hermione, a quick slice of his hand signaling to his goons to go find seats somewhere else.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she hissed at him angrily.

His grin widened. "So scathing. You know, you might have made a good Slytherin…if you weren't a Mudblood, of course," he offered contemplatively.

Hermione hid her fury by stalking over to the ingredients cabinet and loading a variety of vials and roots into her arms. Malfoy was reclining in his seat when she returned, one foot propped against the desk. She was sorely tempted to kick the leg of his chair out from under him, but the black cat stretching comfortably nearby kept her still.

"Professor, isn't it against the rules to have pets in the classroom?" Hermione complained as she sat down.

"Um, erm, well I suppose so. I'll have to ask you to remove your cat, Malfoy," Slughorn said, bemused at Hermione's sudden outburst.

"Ah, but my cat is remarkably well behaved. See?" Malfoy indicated. "Sit still," he commanded. The cat froze where it sat; only the lazy blinking of its eyes indicated that it was not a statue.

Slughorn looked disconcerted. "Very well," he said, returning resolutely to his lesson. Hermione ducked her head over her cauldron so that she didn't have to see Malfoy's sneer of triumph.

Malfoy leaned over the cauldron on the pretext of checking the potion's consistency, and whispered softly in her ear, "I'd keep that temper of yours under control, Granger. Your friend is no longer under your protection."

Hermione refused to look at him, but gave a curt nod to show that she understood.

"There's a good girl," Malfoy purred. "Now finish the potion while I take a nap. I had a _very_ eventful night."

Hermione's eyes shot daggers at the boy, but she stirred the cauldron obediently, all the while hating Malfoy and hating herself for not being able to find a way to circumvent him. But she wasn't called the smartest witch of her year for nothing. She _would_ find a way to get Harry back, she promised herself, and she would do so _tonight_.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Hermione didn't get her chance until two nights later. Other concerns intervened.

"What do you mean, he left!" Ron roared, badly frightening Hermione, who had been studying quietly in a corner. The common room grew very silent. "McGonagall just told me. When were _you_ planning to say something?"

Hermione had never seen Ron this angry. His face, strangely enough, was pure white – all the blood seemed to have rushed to his hair, which was blazing red. Hermione had known that it was not a question of _if_ people would notice Harry was gone, but _when_. When was obviously now.

"He made me promise not to say anything," Hermione explained, hastily moving her potions essay out of the way as Ron slammed his fists onto her desk.

"So you just let him go off to face Voldemort and his Death Eaters alone? I thought you were _smart_, Hermione," he yelled.

Hermione looked up. "Unlike some people, I _keep_ my promises," she bit out coldly. She stood up, palms flat on her desk as she leaned forward slightly. Though Ron towered over her by a good six inches, he recoiled from her presence. "Listen carefully Ronald Weasley, because I am only going to say this once. What Harry does is for Harry to decide. If he chooses not to tell you something, then that is his decision. Not yours, and not mine. He is my friend and I care just as much about what happens to him as you do, so don't you dare yell at me like that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Ron looked momentarily taken aback, then brushed off her comment. "I thought _you_ were my friend, Hermione," he dramatized. "Friends don't lie to each other." He stalked off.

Hermione sank back onto her chair, a feeling of utter exhaustion sweeping over her. She looked at her chronometer – it was only seven o'clock, but she knew that there was no way she would be able to plan a rescue mission tonight. She thought about what she had just told Ron. He had every right to be upset, of course. She would have been furious if Harry had really left Hogwarts without telling her. _Ron will simmer down_, she convinced herself, mostly because she couldn't bear to believe otherwise. _We've been friends too long_.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Ron did not talk to her at all the next morning. When she went to sit down at the Gryffindor table, Ron scooted over so that he took up both his seat and hers, catching a passing Collin Creevey by the sleeve as he did so and pulling him down into Harry's seat. Collin, to his credit, looked confused, but when he tried to get back up Ron gave him such a glower that he immediately sat back down. Hermione said nothing, just took an empty seat at the end of the table, feeling very alone.

Classes that day were horrible, with Malfoy using double Transfiguration to show off his power over Harry by transfiguring him into a teacup and back. Hermione watched in terror, fearful of what transfiguration would do to an animal that was not really an animal. But apparently standard spells could not differentiate the transformed boy from a true cat, and Harry appeared to escape the experience unharmed. Hermione, on the other hand, was quite certain that she had not.

As soon as classes were over she made the excuse to Ginny that she would be in the library, and dashed off.

She found her way to a deserted corner and paused, taking a deep breath. As always, the musty smell of old parchment calmed her. Absently, she ran a finger over the weathered bindings on the shelves, drawing comfort from their familiar touch. The idea she had in mind was so absurd, so ludicrous that it was bound to fail. And yet, hadn't all their ideas been like that? And they had still managed to turn out okay. It would take meticulous planning; there were so many things that could go wrong….

Hermione spent the next few hours jotting down notes in her cramped handwriting, playing out scenarios and ploys in her head. She felt herself growing frustrated as the more she planned, the more things she thought of that could go wrong. The clock chimed nine and in exasperation, she crumpled up the parchment she had been working on and stood up, drawing stares from the few students left in the room. _To Azkaban with planning! _Hermione thought as she grabbed her satchel and walked out the door. _Sometimes a girl's just got to act!_

* * *

**Chapter 4 Summary:**

Draco taunts Hermione about his ability to control Harry. Ron confronts Hermione about Harry's disappearance. Hermione schemes how to get Harry back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 5 — Difficulties**

Draco Malfoy couldn't sleep. Questions kept pouring through his head and he didn't know how to answer them. He rolled over in his bed and glared angrily at the cat curled up in the corner of his room. The cat slept on, completely oblivious to Draco's frown.

_Why me?_ he thought desperately. A year ago, he would have killed for an opportunity like this — to have Harry Potter in his power. He would have given him to the Dark Lord in an instant and been well rewarded. But now…. Ever since he had failed to kill Dumbledore, the Dark Lord had ignored him. Though relieved by this neglect, Draco was keen enough to know that such dereliction would not last. Voldemort never forgot those who failed him, and he was certain that sooner or later, punishment would come. For a brief moment, Draco allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to be free of Voldemort, to live a life where his existence was not just a tool for the Dark Lord's purpose and where his every action was not judged, to be punished with pain or death if it did not please the Dark One. To be free…

Draco shook his head at his folly. He was a Slytherin and what was more, a Malfoy. A luxury like "choice" would never be his. In a way, he envied the cat in the corner. At least an Imperius victim got to float around in a cloud of blissful pleasure, never realizing nor caring about the consequences of its actions. Draco was just as cursed to follow his master's commands as Potter was now cursed to follow his, but unlike Potter, Draco would remember every curse he ever cast and every punishment he was ever dealt when he failed to live up to Voldemort's impossible expectations. Snape had saved him once before, but the day would come when Voldemort would order Draco to kill again, and then Draco would experience his own death when he found himself unable to obey.

For Dumbledore, that fool of a man Dumbledore, had been right about one thing — Draco Malfoy was not a killer. Which was why Harry Potter was still alive in the corner of his room and not now in Voldemort's grasp.

Still, Draco would have to do something. Questions were already being raised. Luckily, no one had been awake the other night when he returned to the common room. He had even missed breakfast in the hope of avoiding the other Slytherins. He didn't dare leave Potter alone where some ignorant Slytherin might claim him for their own, or eliminate him altogether if he got in their way. Draco grinned wryly. Pets were not common among Slytherins. But if he kept the cat with him, then others would recognize it as a Malfoy possession and leave it alone. That was his plan as he headed for class — it was just bad luck that Blaise had convinced Crabbe and Goyle to come looking for him. Pansy, of course, had tagged along. He had encountered the four of them just outside the dungeon entrance.

"_Draco, there you are! I thought we were going to meet at breakfast to talk about the Quiddich team. The new recruits are awful, aren't they? Curse Blechley and Montague for graduating — I don't think anyone really thought they'd manage. We're going to need to work hard this year if we're to beat Gryffindor—"_

"_Ooh, Drakey darling, when did you get a cat?" Pansy purred, reaching down to pick up the feline._

_Draco scowled at her; Blaise broke off his recitation, puzzled._

"_A cat? I didn't think you even liked them. Aren't you always complaining about the Muddblood's Orange Menace?"_

"_Gift from my mother," Draco bit out. "That's why I was late."_

"_It's adorable!"_

_Draco was surprised. Pansy for once had dropped the false sultriness from her voice — her face positively glowed as she rubbed noses with the cat. The look of unadulterated joy on her face almost made her look…pretty. Potter, he noted without surprise, did not seem to mind the attention. _Even as a cat, people fawn on him_, Draco thought in irritation._

"_Put Potter down, you're embarrassing yourself," he demanded. _

_Pansy looked at him, startled, but obediently set the cat on the ground. "Potter?" she asked._

_Draco realized his gaff. "That's what I named him. Got a problem with that?" _

"_No…" she said hesitantly. "But why Potter?"_

"_Look at his eyes," Crabbe said, speaking up for the first time. Draco looked at him sharply. He hadn't realized that Crabbe was observant._

"_Yeah, I guess now that you mention it, it does look like Potter," Blaise remarked, bending over to peer at the creature. "Poor cat."_

"_Better looking, you mean," Pansy said, looping her hand through Draco's arm. He looked at it in disgust and calmly removed it. She didn't seem to notice, just looped it back through again. He gave up. "I, for one, would hate to have to go through life knowing I resembled Harry Potter."_

"_No, you just resemble a Horklump_."

"_What did you say, Drakey?"_

"_Nothing."_

_Blaise looked at Draco strangely. "I'm glad your dad let you have another pet. I was under the impression he had forbidden them." _

_Draco forced a look of disgust on his face and glared at the cat, surreptitiously wiping the palms of his hands on his robes. Since when did Malfoys sweat? "That's what I thought, too."_

_Blaise laughed and gripped Draco by the shoulder, a familiarity Draco allowed with no one else. "Poor man. Well, if you get tired of it, you could just drown it like you did before. Or give it to Pansy, she seems rather taken with it."_

"_I might just do that," Draco agreed grimly. If Potter had still been a boy, he might have welcomed the chance to get rid of Pansy; however much the thought of the two of them together repulsed him, at the same time it pleased him immensely. They deserved each other. As things stood now, however, Draco had absolutely no intention of letting Pansy get her hands on Potter again._

Draco grimaced. Maybe he should have let the girl keep Potter. Of course, the fact that Potter was under the Imperius curse did make him remarkably easy to handle. Why hadn't Draco thought about putting his previous pets under the curse as well? It would have saved him an incredible amount of frustration and the inevitable outcome once he grew bored of their antics.

With a sigh, Draco climbed out of bed, recognizing the signs of another sleepless night. As soon as his skin hit the air, the thick December chill made his body erupt with goosebumps. Hastily he drew on a shirt, and threw on a cloak for good measure. He was about to head out the door when he paused and surveyed his bedroom with a scowl. As a prefect, Snape had given him the option of having his own room, which he of course had snatched at immediately. What his father had for once been unable to buy him, his own good grades had procured. Still, like all dormitory doors, his was completely impervious to locking charms, and it would not be the first time that Pansy checked in on him.

Things tended to get ugly if she thought he was out with another girl – never mind that he had made his lack of interest towards her quite clear. Besides, if she stopped to think at all (a faculty he was not certain she was capable of), she would realize that a Malfoy would hardly deign to go to someone else's room if he wanted company. People would come to him.

Still, it was easier to play along. Turning toward his bed, he cast the habitual Illusion Charm that would make it appear he was still sleeping there, before striding out the door.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Hermione crouched by a wall. It was hard to see in the faint glow of the torches, but she didn't dare cast a spell for more light. For one thing, she was wearing Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and a light shining from something that appeared to be a blank wall would raise questions if someone were to walk by. Which brought her to the second reason she was being so cautious. She was deep in Slytherin territory and prefect or not, she did not want to think about what would happen to her if she was caught down here alone.

Her plan was simple — sneak into the Slytherin dorms, find Malfoy's room, grab Harry, and get away before anyone could notice. If she could just get him to McGonagall before Malfoy awoke, the Professor would have time to change him back, restore his memories, and break the curse. By the time Malfoy realized what had happened, Harry would be back to his normal self and completely impervious to Malfoy's wrath. The plan was perfectly simple and it terrified her. Something was bound to go wrong.

Something appeared to already have. Hermione squinted in the pallid light. She knew that the entrance to the Slytherin common room must be around here somewhere, but she had reached a dead end and there was no portrait or statue to be found. _Even if I could find it, I would never get inside_, Hermione thought bitterly. _I don't know the password_.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the stone before her rippled; Hermione gave a small gasp and just managed to step aside as someone emerged from the formerly solid wall. Whoever it was had their cloak up and was walking briskly away, but Hermione was no longer watching. The swirling of the wall that could only be the gateway to the Slytherin common room was slowing, and without pausing to think, Hermione threw herself inside.

* * *

**Chapter 5 Summary:**

Draco ponders whether or not to hand Harry over to Voldemort, and Hermione sneaks into the Slytherin common room to steal Harry back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 6 — Action**

Draco inhaled deeply as he stepped into the warmth of the Hogwarts kitchens. The house elves were already preparing tomorrow's breakfast, and the air was a delightful medley of cinnamon spice and maple syrup.

"Master Malfoy! Whatz is youz doing here?" A small elf asked, looking up at him in surprise.

"Good evening, Trixie," Draco said, setting his cloak aside. "I was having trouble sleeping…"

"Say no more, Master Malfoy! Trixie knowz whatz to do!"

She disappeared.

Draco surveyed the room lazily, watching the house elves' efficient preparations. His mouth watered as he observed a small group of them molding an enormous phoenix out of pure sugar.

Minutes passed. _When was Trixie coming back?_ By some internal arrangement, it was always she who served him whenever he visited the kitchens, but he couldn't remember her ever taking this long before. As he scanned the room for the little elf, a pale green silhouette caught his eye. He thought it looked like…"Dobby?" he asked, but when he snapped his head around for a second look, the elf was gone. Draco shook his head, disbelieving. He must have been mistaken.

"Here'z you goez, Master Malfoy!" Trixie chirped happily, tugging at his shirt. She was holding a platter with a full glass of milk and steaming hot cookies.

"I just madez them, sir," she said shyly. "I hopez you likez?"

"Trixie, they're delicious!" Draco exclaimed happily, biting into a chocolate chip cookie. His mother was right — being nice to the house elves _did_ pay off…especially for those in charge of the cooking. Draco wished his father would listen to her advice. Food at the Manor was terrible.

It took Draco ten minutes to eat his way through the heaped plate. When he was done, he sat back against the wall with a contented sigh.

"Will youz be wanting more?" Trixie asked eagerly.

"No, Trixie, that was quite enough. Thank you," Draco said, stretching out luxuriously. With a sigh, he reached down and picked up his cloak. "I'd better be getting back."

"Have a good nightz, sir!" Trixie waved before disappearing back into the crowd of cooking elves.

Draco wrapped the cloak tightly around himself, took one last breath of the sumptuous kitchen air, and then stepped out into Hogwarts' frigid halls.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

The sign on the door said "Prefect."

_I'm a prefect_, Hermione thought bitterly, _and _I_ don't have my own room._

It had taken her far too long to find Malfoy's room. Even with her feet spelled to silence, she was afraid that she would wake somebody up. She had been fortunate so far, but after half an hour's searching, she had failed to find Malfoy in any of the usual dorms. Hermione had almost given up hope when she found this room, buried in the deepest part of the Slytherin dungeons.

"Silencio," she muttered, and turned the knob. The door slid quietly open. A shaft of moonlight lit on the bed, and under the covers, she could just make out the top of a silvery-blond head. The academic in Hermione contemplated the moonlight, puzzled. _That casement has to be enchanted_. _There's no way a window could exist this far underground_.

She tiptoed over to the bed. It was Malfoy, all right. Satisfied that she was in the right place, she began to search the room for her friend.

"Harry," she whispered softly. "Harry, where are you?"

She almost missed him lying in the corner — his black pelt blended in perfectly with the shadows. She reached down to pick him up, but as soon as her hands touched him, his eyes shot open with a yowl.

"Silencio!" Hermione hissed, her eyes darting frantically to the boy in the bed. He slept on, unaware of the disturbance in his room.

The cat spat soundlessly at her, the fur on its back standing on end. Hermione considered just stunning him, but that would certainly wake the sleeping boy, as the effects of such a spell tended to be both loud and bright. And Malfoy not waking up was crucial to her plan. With a sigh, she slipped her wand into the pocket of her cloak and reached for the cat; it snarled and swiped at her with an extended claw. Crookshanks had taught her much about cats, however, and she dodged the paw nimbly enough, grabbing the cat by the waist with both hands.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione gritted out, struggling to keep her purchase on the cat as he bucked in her grasp. "Just…come…with…me."

As the cat struggled in her arms, Hermione felt the cloak slip off of her and fall in a puddle on the floor. She was trying to determine how best to pick it up without losing her grip on the cat when a voice from behind her suddenly demanded, "What are you doing in my room?"

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco stood in the doorway, frozen in shock. He had reached his room almost without realizing it, his thoughts, strangely enough, centered on Dobby. The poor creature was just another casualty of father's cruelty. If Dobby had indeed found a new home at Hogwarts — and hadn't he heard the Mudblood mention something about him when she was going on about that S.P.E.W. thing? — then he was happy for the elf. Happy, that is, if such a term could be used to describe a Malfoy's feelings for one of the lesser species. Lost in his musings, Draco was startled to find himself outside the entrance to his room.

The door made no noise as he pushed it open. _Strange_, Draco thought, frowning slightly. It had always creaked rather loudly before.

Puzzling over this new development, it took a second for his eyes to fully register the strange sight that met him as he stepped into the room. There in a corner crouched Hermione Granger, struggling to hold onto the cat that was Harry Potter. At her feet lay the iridescent folds of an invisibility cloak.

"What are you doing in my room?" he choked out.

Hermione's head jerked around and her hand shot out for the cloak. The sudden movement caused her to lose her grip on the cat, which clawed at her as it leapt away, knocking her off balance. In an instant Draco was there, kicking the cloak out of the way. Hermione jumped to her feet only to find Draco with his wand out, pointed at her throat.

"I thought I sensed someone outside the common room entrance this evening," he said, advancing on her. Hermione backed away until she hit a wall. He was almost nose-to-nose with her now. Well, nose-to-forehead; Draco was several inches taller than she was. He saw the girl's eyes dart sideways as she sought a way out. "When I turned to look, no one was there. I thought it was just my imagination."

"Really?" she scathed. "I never would have guessed you had one."

Draco allowed the brief glimmer of a smile to crack his stolid countenance. "You have no idea," he said disconcertingly.

Her eyes shot to his face.

Draco stood there for a moment, rejoicing in his power over her. He was in control of this situation, and they both knew it. "Well, well, this is indeed an interesting development. Hermione Granger in my room. Really Granger, I didn't know you were that desperate. Although to be fair, I must insist you wait your turn. There is a list floating around here somewhere, if you're that interested…."

She quivered in rage, but for once kept her mouth shut.

"Did you honestly think," he asked her, turning suddenly sober, "that I had left Potter no instructions on what to do if someone tried to remove him without my permission? You are lucky you didn't manage to get him beyond my door."

"You're evil," Hermione snapped.

Draco shrugged. "That's a matter of opinion." He looked at her intently. "You know, Granger, things would go a lot easier on you and Potter if you would just listen to me," he opined.

"_I'm_ not the one under the Imperius curse, Malfoy!" Hermione spat.

"No? I could remedy that," he murmured softly. Hermione could feel the heat of his breath against her forehead. "I recall that last time, you weren't able to throw it off so easily." Hermione blushed deeply as she recalled the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson their fourth year, and what the fake Moody had made her do.

"Don't think I enjoyed it Malfoy. I was under a spell. I would never in a thousand years want to kiss you again."

"Really? Yet Potter was able to oppose merely jumping onto a desk, while _you_ did not even pause before carrying out a command you claim you loathed. Makes one wonder how much you truly tried to resist."

With a small scream of fury, Hermione swung at him with her fist; he caught her arm before she could touch him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her other hand come in; he caught that one, too. She struggled fiercely, trying to get away. He tightened his grip on her arms, leaning into her so that she was trapped between his body and the wall.

A rock and a hard place.

"I let you do that once before," he whispered softly in her ear. "Never again. Besides, I have something better than an Imperius curse. I have a hostage. And if you want him to stay a living hostage, you will learn to obey me, too."

Hermione spat in his face.

Malfoy stared at her. He didn't say anything. Hermione gloated at his shock, even as she feared his retaliation. A dribble of her spit touched the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, he leaned in and kissed her. Hermione's eyes widened in shock as his lips claimed hers; she could feel his body pressing into hers, his muscles rippling against her as he deepened the kiss. It was fourth year all over again, with her mind screaming at her to stop him, to hit him, to do _something_ — and the rest of her perfectly content to kiss him right back.

It all stopped abruptly, and Hermione almost fell as his hands released her. Sometime in the last ten seconds, her knees had turned to Jell-O.

"I suggest," said Draco thickly, "that if you don't want Voldemort to get his hands on your little friend, you rethink your decision about how you treat me."

Hermione stared at him as he walked away from her and picked up the cloak. Was it her imagination, or was his voice a little hoarse?

"I want that back," she said quickly. Why was she having such trouble speaking?

"That's too bad," Malfoy said. He was running his fingers through its folds, but his eyes were distant, as if he didn't quite realize what he was doing. His fingers stopped as they found something in the pocket. He pulled it out.

"At least give me my wand," she demanded bitterly. He was examining it in the moonlight, tracing its contours lightly with his finger. She shuddered.

"Why, so you can hex me with it? You'll get it back in the morning." He looked up at her suddenly. "Why are you still here? Leave me."

"Without the cloak? What if someone sees me?" Hermione asked nervously. She was quivering. She told herself that it was because she was afraid to navigate the Slytherin dungeons sans cloak or wand.

"That's your problem isn't it?"

Hermione scowled, but there was nothing more she could do. "Goodnight, Harry," she whispered to the cat, which — now that it was not in danger of being forced to leave — licked her hand amiably. With a final glare in Malfoy's direction, Hermione stalked towards the door. She paused at the entrance as his voice spoke up behind her.

"Oh, and Granger — next time you want to visit my room, be sure to sign up first."

With an inward cry of outrage, Hermione slammed the door silently behind her.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco sat on his bed for a long time, thinking about what he had done. Moody's command in their fourth year had shocked the entire classroom. The Gryffindors were appalled that their Golden Girl had kissed the "Ferret," none more so than Potter and Weasley; all had done their best to forget the incident. The Slytherins were a different story. Immediately after class, Draco had hunted them down and modified their memories so that they couldn't blab to the other students, and especially not to his father. Draco wasn't sure why he didn't want his father to find out, but it was something that he definitely wanted to avoid.

Draco could only guess what Lucius Malfoy's reaction would be if he knew what had transpired here tonight. _He would probably disown me_, Draco mused. Draco knew that he himself should be appalled that he had touched a Mudblood. _In fact_, he thought wryly, _I should probably be scouring my mouth with soup and water_. Yet the memory of her lips against his, and the feel of her body beneath his own, drove all other considerations from his mind.

Thinking back to Granger's reaction to his kiss, he wondered exactly what it was that Moody had told the girl to do.

* * *

**Chapter 6 Summary:**

Hermione tries to steal Harry from Draco's room, and Draco finds her there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 7 — Confusion**

True to Malfoy's word, Hermione awoke the next morning to find her wand lying on her windowsill, A stray owl feather rested nearby.

She picked up her wand tentatively, then with a firm scowl of resolve, shoved it into her pocket and stalked off to breakfast. She would put last night out of her mind and if Malfoy _dared_ to bring it up to _anyone_ at all, she would hex him into the next dimension, imperioused Harry or no.

Nevertheless, Hermione was mildly surprised no whispers suddenly ceased as she entered the Great Hall and that no one cast furtive looks in her direction as she ate. Malfoy obviously hadn't told anyone. Yet.

_Well, why would he?_ Hermione thought, irritably. _That would mean admitting he had kissed a Mudblood. Just imagine how the other Slytherins would react! _She paused mid-bite into her cinnamon toast, her lips curving up in a small smile of pleasure at the thought. No, Malfoy was probably just as eager to forget the experience as she was.

But then why did she feel Malfoy's eyes on her the entire time she was eating? True, the one time she dared sneak a look, he was talking quietly to the boy sitting next to him, but years of enduring Malfoy's taunts made her neck prickle in warning whenever he cast a look in her direction.

_He's probably trying to make me nervous. Well, I won't give him the satisfaction!_

Hermione stuffed the rest of her toast into her mouth and sauntered as casually as she could out of the hall.

While the lack of student reaction to her presence relieved the girl immensely, another lack of reaction left her completely puzzled. To Hermione's surprise, most of the students (with the obvious exception of Ron) didn't seem at all upset by Harry's disappearance. Confused, Hermione sought out Parvati in Herbology. That girl was a gossip machine; if anyone would know the reason, she would.

"Well, we all knew he was going to go after Voldemort at some point. I mean, _duh_, he's the Boy Who Lived!" Parvati explained as they plucked the petals from an Astragalus plant. "I'm actually surprised he waited this long. Wasn't he was going to leave right after Snape killed Dumbledore? That slimy old git. Who would have thought he had it in him?"

Hermione nodded mutely. Parvati had just reminded her about something she had almost forgotten in her concern over Malfoy — Voldemort. He was getting more and more powerful, and soon there was going to be a great confrontation between the light side and the dark. When that happened, Voldemort _had_ to be vulnerable. It was their only chance. With Harry temporarily out of the picture, that left Hermione with only one option — she would have to find the Horcruxes herself.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco snapped out of his reverie to find that his porridge was cold and that he had been looking at Granger. Again. _I'm becoming positively fixated_, he thought in disgust. _She's a _Mudblood_ for crying out loud!_

He paused thoughtfully and rolled the word over in his mouth. Mudblood. It was like any other slur — use it enough, and loses much of its meaning. And Draco had used it many time over the last few years where a certain bushy-haired know-it-all was concerned.

He shook his head and bent over his porridge

"So, Draco, what do you think of those two as replacements? Harris and Lolt?"

"Wha–who?" Draco asked, confused.

"The fourth years! You know, Quiddich? Honestly man, what's wrong with you? Your head's been in the clouds all morning," Blaise exclaimed.

"I'm not sure," Draco said, truthfully. He stared at his cold meal with repulsion and stood up. "Look, I'll see you in class, all right? I've gotta go."

Blaise watched him leave, a contemplative look on his face.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

By mutual unspoken consent, Malfoy and Hermione went out of their way to avoid each other over the next few days. Whenever the two teenagers did meet, it was with a scathing exchange that sent the people around them ducking for cover.

Potter still followed Draco everywhere, but the boy had gotten used to his dark shadow and to his surprise, at times even felt an amiable tolerance toward the beast.

_Don't be absurd, it's still Potter_, he told himself, watching the cat play with his shoelaces one night in his room. But it was getting harder and harder to remember that, since the cat certainly didn't act like a boy. It acted like, well, a _cat_.

Several times, Draco seriously considered allowing Potter to change back into his normal, ugly self, and remove the curse. But then he remembered all the times that Potter and his friends had made his life miserable over the years — turning down his offer of friendship and embarrassing him in front of the entire first year. Not to mention that whole affair with the ferret; Draco still had nightmares about that day. Besides, what would he do if Potter suddenly became human again? There was no way he'd be able to hide the truth that he had essentially kidnapped a fellow student and kept him under the Imperius curse for a week. He would be out of Hogwarts in as much time as it took the teachers to break his wand. And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed the protection that Hogwarts afforded. If Voldemort had been angry with him before over Dumbledore's death, his wrath would be deadly once he knew that Draco had the opportunity to bring him Potter, and hadn't.

But that line of thinking brought his thoughts too close to the possibility that he should just give Potter over to the Dark Lord and redeem himself in his eyes. Lucrative though that option seemed, the rewards would only last until the next time he failed Voldemort, and without Potter to forestall him, there would be no stopping the Dark One. Draco would be signing his own death warrant the instant he handed Potter over.

"I guess you'll just have to stay a cat," he said pensively. "I hope you like mice."

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco had never been much for friends, but as the debate over what to do with Potter raged in his mind, he found that he was avoiding his compatriots more than usual. After seven years, their bumbling, acrid company was starting to wear thin; but more to the point, several of them were rather skilled Legilimens. Although Draco himself had long since mastered the art of Occlumancy, he didn't want to risk one of them picking up on his turbulent thoughts.

So it surprised him one night to hear the low mumble of his housemates in urgent conversation as he was coming down from the Astronomy Tower. It was after midnight — why were they skulking around the Hogwarts corridors? He was about to yell down to them when some instinct warned him not to. Instead he crept closer, careful to always stay one flight above them.

"Magnifico," he hissed. Their voices suddenly became piercingly clear.

"—hate meeting like this. What if we get caught?"

"There is no reward without risk," a cold voice replied. _Goyle_, Draco thought with surprise.

"I don't see why we have to be there. This doesn't pertain to us."

"It's a warning to anyone who might fail the Dark Lord," a third voice spoke up.

"Yes, but then why isn't he—"

"He is not to know, that is all. Whatever the Dark Lord's plans are, they are for us to follow, not question."

"But—"

"Enough!" That was Goyle again. Draco's eyebrows raised a full inch. When did his idiot bodyguard become so commanding? "We will all of us be there. That is final."

Heavy footsteps indicated that the meeting was breaking up. Draco stood in pensive silence for a minute before taking a circuitous route back to his room.

If Draco noticed that Crabbe and Goyle failed to lock their brooms away after Quiddich practice the next day, he gave no sign. But that night when several hooded students crept out of the common room and up to the Astronomy tower, Draco, safely hidden beneath Potter's invisibility cloak, followed.

* * *

**Chapter 7 Summary:**

Draco and Hermione avoid each other, and Draco learns of a secret Death Eater meeting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 8 — The Meeting**

They flew for about an hour. The night was moonless, which meant Draco did not have to worry about being spotted even though the wind occasionally caused his cloak to flare up around him. Unfortunately, the lack of light also made it very difficult to follow the three Slytherins.

At last they touched down at the edge of a small clearing. At least thirty other hooded figures were already there, waiting.

"About time," one of them hissed as the students approached the group. "My Lord has been getting impatient."

"Sorry, father," Crabbe said.

They waited for a few more minutes, until a dark figure stepped forth from the shadows. At once the Death Eaters bowed respectfully, a gesture that the creature did not seem to notice, but would have been quick to punish if anyone failed to carry it out.

Draco began to imitate the Death Eaters out of habit, and then realized that hidden as he was, he did not have to. For the first time in his life, Draco stood in Voldemort's presence and met his gaze eye to eye.

"Lucius," the evil voice hissed. Draco's eyes widened in surprise as his father stepped forward. He was in his Death Eater's robes, but his hood was thrown back and his long blond hair gleamed in the starlight. That wasn't what surprised Draco. His mother was there, too. Not being a Death Eater, she was not cloaked in black garb. Instead, she wore a silvery evening dress that made her look like a young girl and not a woman of forty.

Although Voldemort had called his father's name, it was his mother whom he now addressed. "You made Severus promise to carry out your boy's mission, if he failed. Did you not?"

"Yes, my Lord," Narcissa Malfoy murmured, head bowed.

"Even though you knew it was my plan to have him fail?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"So tell me, Narcissa, why did you try to circumvent me?" His voice was silken and deadly. Draco could not see where this was going.

The woman was silent.

Voldemort answered for her. "To spare your son."

"Yes," she whispered.

"A regular Lily Potter," Voldemort laughed. His high cackle rose ominously above the treetops. "You fool. Crucio!"

His mother writhed on the ground, pain coursing through her. Draco bit his lip to keep from shouting a counter-curse, and tasted something tangy — it was blood.

Finally, the torturing stopped. Narcissa Malfoy slowly climbed to her feet.

"No one disobeys me and gets away with it," Voldemort hissed. "Your son failed me, and once I no longer have need of him, he, too, will meet his fate. If you had left him alone, he might have been spared. After all, am I not a merciful lord? I have been known to forgive failures, once they are suitably punished. But on no account will I brook defiance. Not now, nor ever. All heed what happens to those who contravene the Dark Lord's command!" The serpent-man raised his wand, and then lowered it again with a chuckle. "Do it," he ordered the blond man before him.

Without hesitation, Lucius Malfoy turned and cast a spell at his wife. There was a brilliant green flash of light, and Narcissa Malfoy slumped to the ground, dead.

"No!" Draco roared.

Heads swiveled toward him and thirty different spells blasted toward him simultaneously, but Draco didn't notice, didn't see the way they bounced off his cloak. He was blinded by wrath; he screamed hexes that illuminated the night with his emotive power.

"Get him!"

"Where is he?"

"It's Potter in his Cloak!" Crabbe shouted.

"Kill him!" Voldemort screamed.

It was chaos, and even amidst his rage, Draco knew that he could never reach the one person he longed to kill. With a final scream of fury, he took to the sky.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Hermione tossed restlessly on her bed, wide awake.

"I just want to go to sleep," she whimpered. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not get the image of the blond-haired boy out of her mind. And it was not a terrified "she's about to hex me into the next dimension" type of image, either.

Finally, she gave up.

She knew that detention would be the least penalty she'd receive if she were caught sneaking down to the kitchens, but some of the daring that being friends with Harry and Ron required came to the forefront now. With a small smile that she, the "perfect" Hermione Granger was about to willingly break the rules, she left.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Brushing away the last of the cookie crumbs, Hermione left the kitchen and headed back to her dormitory. She had only gone down a couple of halls, however, when a strange noise met her ears. Hermione scowled. _It had better not be those third years again_, she mentally threatened, assuming her "I'm a Prefect" stance. _For crying out loud, it's three o'clock in the morning!_ She rounded the corner.

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't Draco Malfoy standing huddled against a wall, clutching a broomstick and crying.

"Malfoy?" she asked in wonder.

He whirled on her, shooting a hex so fast she wouldn't have been able to counter it if she hadn't already been holding out her wand.

When he saw who it was, he straightened, the tears gleaming angrily in his eyes. He was about to say something when the sound of footsteps and hushed voices echoed their way down the corridor.

Hermione turned her head to look, and in that moment Malfoy leapt at her, forcing her wand hand to her side and clasping his other hand firmly across her mouth. Hermione fought against him as he dragged her through the slightly open door of a nearby classroom.

"Silence Granger!" he demanded softly. Hermione struggled for a moment more, and then realized that his attention was not on her, but rather he was holding her almost protectively, with his ear cocked towards the open door. There had been real fear in his voice, she realized with a shock.

The shadows passed by in a whirl of cloaks; through the half-shut door, she could just make out the bulky forms of Crabbe and Goyle, and several other students.

At last the footsteps faded away; only then did Hermione realize how close Malfoy was holding her. She squirmed against the boy and Malfoy, abruptly aware that he still held her, let her go.

Hermione chaffed at her wrist; Malfoy's hands had been freezing. She recalled the last time he had grabbed her — they had been warm and soft.

Her eyes widened as Malfoy, heedless of her presence, slumped down beside a desk and drew his knees up to his chest. Something was seriously wrong.

"Malfoy?" she asked, taking a step forward. "Are you okay?"

Draco felt a tentative hand touch his shoulder. He couldn't help it; after all that had happened tonight, that small kindness was simply too much. He felt the tears stream out of him.

"They killed my Mum," he choked out, not caring that this was Granger, simply needing to tell someone, to share his pain. Horror bloomed across Granger's face.

"Crabbe…and Goyle?" she asked.

"No, not them. Voldemort. He ordered my dad to kill her. And he did. He did!" Draco all but shouted.

He was trembling. He turned his head away from the girl so she couldn't his tears.

A fierce debate raged inside Hermione. This was Malfoy. She hated him. He deserved no mercy from her. _But his dad just killed his mum!_ she argued. Basic human decency won out and she sank down beside Malfoy, cautiously wrapping her arms around him in a hug. She half expected him to hex her, to announce that this was some big trick and to gloat that she had fallen for it. Instead, he sat there in her arms and slowly, fearfully, put his arms around her, too.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

The revelation that Voldemort wanted him dead did not surprise Draco; he had suspected as much for some time. At first, he had been honored that Voldemort had chosen him to be the one to kill Dumbledore. Gradually, it had dawned on him that if the Order did not kill him for murdering their beloved leader, Voldemort would surely kill him for failing. Either way, he was a dead man.

One night the conundrum simply became to be too much, and he thought Moaning Myrtle's bathroom would be a quiet place to cry. How was he to know that Potter had a penchant for girls' bathrooms? In the end, the hex Potter used on him nearly killed him, and as Draco hovered somewhere between life and death, a part of him had been glad that the decision had been taken away from him. That was before he awoke in the hospital wing to the cruel realization that he was still alive.

Now it was Granger who had discovered him crying, and Draco half-expected her to hex him, too. Instead, she was sitting here beside him, holding him while the tears coursed down his cheeks. No one had ever held him in their arms like that. He breathed in the thick scent of her hair, taking comfort in her presence. It hardly took any effort at all to quash the part of him that screamed "Mudblood!" He no longer cared what anyone might think. His adherence to the doctrines his father had taught died the instant his mother did.

"Thank you," he whispered. She nodded slightly but made no move to get up, choosing to sit with him as he gave his grief to the night.

* * *

**Chapter 8 Summary:**

Lucius Malfoy kills Draco's mom, and Hermione discovers Draco crying and comforts him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 9 — Less than Enemies**

Hermione awoke the next morning with a stiff neck and a very cold bum. She lifted her head slowly, and realized that she had fallen asleep on Draco Malfoy's shoulder. The boy was still asleep, his head thrown back and resting against the leg of a desk. A lock of silky blond hair had flopped forwards and was half-covering one of his eyes, where the crusty tracks of last night's tears could still be seen.

Hermione slowly got to her feet; her sudden lack of warmth roused the boy, and he blinked blearily up at her.

"Good morning," she said warily.

"Is it?" he asked, making no effort to get up.

"Well, I suppose not," she amended, realizing how coarse she sounded.

He smiled up at her wearily. Hermione was startled. _I don't think I've ever seen him smile before_, she thought unexpectedly. _Sneer, yes. But smile?_

"It's all right," he said. "Yesterday I was just in shock. I won't break down on you again."

He stared beyond her, into memory. "We were never that close, Mum and I. Father thought that if Mum coddled me, it would make me weak. After I entered Hogwarts, I rarely saw her."

"But she was still your mother," Hermione said simply.

"Yes."

Hermione wasn't certain how to respond, so she just stood there awkwardly, not sure if he wanted her to leave. At last, Malfoy looked up and met her gaze.

"Thank you for staying with me," he said. "After the last few years, you were the last person I would have expected to help me."

"Yeah, well, forget about it," Hermione dismissed uncomfortably.

Malfoy smiled again and took her hand, getting to his feet. "That I will never do."

They walked out into the corridor. It was completely deserted.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione asked, prodding a stray sock with her toe. Malfoy smacked himself on the head.

"It's Christmas break — everyone's left."

"I can't believe I forgot!" Hermione giggled. "I almost broke my ankle last night avoiding Lavender's trunks. Wow."

"I take it you're not going home?" Malfoy asked, looking at the girl with an unreadable expression. She shook her head.

"My mom and dad are…traveling," she hedged. "I'm staying here."

He nodded slowly.

"And you?"

"I doubt very much that my father would want to have me home right now," he remarked dryly.

Hermione clasped her hands to her mouth at her gaff. "I'm sorry!" she apologized again.

"I told you not to worry about it," he said, brushing away her remorse. "I wouldn't trust myself in his presence right now, anyway."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that, so she just kept silent.

"Thank you again, Hermione," Malfoy said, raising a hand to her face.

"You, you said my name," she stammered, feeling herself blush at his touch.

"And I plan to say it for a long time," he agreed. For the first time in all the years he had known her, he truly looked at her. "If anything good came out of last night at all, it was that it showed me there are few people of worth in this world and you, Muggle-born Hermione Granger, are one of them."

She was gaping at him, she knew it. She stared at the place he had stood long after he had walked away. In all the turmoil of thoughts and emotions raging within her, one thought kept popping to the forefront of her mind: she liked the way he said her name.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

_It's times like these that I really loathe how well I know my father_, Draco thought as he picked up the letter lying on his bed.

With stoic detachment he opened it and skimmed enough to know the news it bore before he crumped it cruelly in his hand.

_Dear Draco,_

_I regret to inform you of the death of your mother. She contracted Wizards' sarcoma and by the time she sought out medical attention, there was nothing the healers could do. The funeral has been arranged for this afternoon. You are not expected to attend._

There it was. A terse, tidy explanation that those aware of the virulent cancer which plagued the pureblood lines would accept. Oh, Draco knew that if he wrote St. Mungo's and checked, they would Owl him falsified papers regarding his mother's illness and death. His father had always been good at hiding his tracks.

_You are not expected to attend_.

So, he was not even permitted to attend her funeral. Just as well — he doubted that he could control his temper well enough to keep from hexing his father, or denouncing him to the other attendees, who would undoubtedly consist entirely of Death Eaters.

Draco sat on the edge of his bed and tried to summon up the image of his mother, a happy memory — anything other than the silvery woman dropping to the ground in a burst of green light. The best he could produce was the visage of a flaxen-haired woman with a girlish face who smiled wearily at him before fading back into the fog of memory.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco did not leave his room until noon the next day. He might not have left even then, but his stomach was rumbling loudly and besides, he wanted to talk to Hermione.

She wasn't at lunch, which surprised him. _Probably in the library_, he thought as he ate his way around his plate. It was strange having the Great Hall this quiet. Draco had never stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas break before, and he gazed around in wonder at the long, empty tables and the teachers absent from the head bench. Apparently, with the threat of Voldemort looming so close, many families wanted their children to return home for what could realistically be their last Christmas together.

Those who were left ate together at the Ravenclaw table. Besides himself and the absent Hermione, there were three students — a Hufflepuff first year and two Ravenclaw fourth years, one of who looked vaguely familiar. _I probably flirted with her at some point_, he thought, trying to place her. He really could not remember.

The students sat a few seats down the table from him and, while they did not intentionally ignore him, they made no attempt to draw him into their conversation either. Professor Flitwick, the only teacher currently present, tried once or twice to talk to Draco, but soon gave it up and left the morose boy to his own thoughts.

Draco, for his part, was trying to determine how best to present his proposal to Hermione so that she wouldn't reject him on the spot. After all, he had been an absolute git to her and her friends for as long as he had known them. He thought back to the first time he had called her "Mudblood." His father had just sent him a private Howler, raging about how a piece of muggle-born filth was beating Draco in every class, he was so disappointed in Draco, he regretted helping Draco onto the Quiddich team…. _I'd have made it on my own, anyway_, Draco mentally avowed as he listened to the litany in stoic silence. Of course, that wasn't the point. With Lucius Malfoy, everything was about money and power. When the girl in question later accused Draco to his face of buying his way onto the Quiddich team, he had lost it. Although he had heard his father use the slur all his life, he had never before used it himself.

Immediately, a part of him wanted to take it back. But he was a Malfoy. Malfoys did not apologize. He couldn't get away with not calling her by that name again, either. Now that he had let the snake out of its tank, his friends refused to let him put it back in. She was officially "The Mudblood Granger," lowest of the low, and to be treated as such.

Draco buried his head in his hands, earning himself a very strange look from Professor Flitwick. How was he going to explain his actions? This, all of this, was never something he had wanted. All he had desired was to — just once — impress his father. He had thought that by parroting his father's ways, by doing everything he asked, by serving Voldemort, and yes, even by killing Dumbledore, in the end, it would be enough.

"What a fool I have been," Draco muttered, clenching his hands into fists and bending the spoon he held in two.

He could almost see his father standing before of him, lecturing him about the pureblood ways. Then the image turned and it was casting light, green light….

_Everything around me that has ever been good or happy, you have taken away saying they are not for me_, he addressed his father's mental image. _Now I see at last that it was never me you wanted, never a son — just a tool to curry the Dark Lord's favor, and a barricade between you and him when you incurred his wrath._

_Well, I'm through playing this game. I'm through with the insults, the hate, the despair. Maybe, just maybe, I can still salvage something of what it means to be happy. _

He knew that she wouldn't trust him — he wouldn't trust him if their situations were reversed. And he would be lying if he said that seven years of ingrained habits would be easy to break. But Merlin take them all, he was going to try!

_I'll make them pay for what they did to you, Mother_, he swore. _And I'll become the man you always wanted me to be, and have those things you used to whisper about — fairy tales, I thought they were. How could such things exist in real life? But maybe someday, I, too, will have friends I can trust not to curse me in the back. _

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Hermione was in the library when Malf — Draco, she corrected herself. If he was going to call her by her first name, she could certainly call him by his — sought her out.

"I want to stop Voldemort," he said bluntly, pulling up a chair beside her.

"Why?" she asked, equally frank.

"Need you ask?" He didn't wait for an answer, but began ticking off his reasons. "He killed my mum. He wants me dead. Anyone who follows him either ends up a murderer, or tortured, or dead themselves. There is no peace with him as master, only fear. He's evil, he's cruel—"

"Okay, I get the picture," Hermione cut in.

Draco stared at her intensely. "Believe me, this is not a decision made in anger. I've thought about this for a long time. If I don't do something, I'm going to end up like my mother, and I'm not ready to die yet."

"And what makes you think that _I_ know how to stop him?" she demanded. "People have been trying for years and as far as I'm aware, he's still very much alive."

"I've seen you and Potter plotting together when you thought no one was looking. You are all in the Order and you headed Dumbledore's Army and everything. Potter was the only one with Dumbledore before he—" Draco broke off. Hermione was watching him coldly.

"Anyway," he mumbled, feeling his bravado breaking down, "if anyone knows a way to stop Voldemort, it's you."

Hermione tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the desk, brushing against the edges of the papers she had slid under her notebook as soon as Draco sat down.

"Supposing there is a way, why would I want your help? Why should I trust you, of all people, not to betray us?"

Draco swallowed hard. "I don't know. I'd drink Veritaserum if it would convince you of my sincerity, or swear a Binding Vow if that's what you want."

She looked doubtful.

"Look Hermione," he said, leaning forward earnestly. She drew back. "I know I've been an absolute gargoyle to you for practically forever. I'd try and explain, but I know you either wouldn't believe me or wouldn't care. I can't claim I'm changed, because I'm not. At least, not yet. But I'm going to try, because I see what you and Potter and Weasley have" — he missed the rapid blinking of Hermione's eyes — "and I want it. I want it more than anything in the world. And if killing Voldemort is the only way I can ever be free to have that, then that is what I'll do."

Hermione met his gaze at last, searching his eyes intently. "I believe you," she finally said.

Hermione stared at her hands. What she was about to do would brand her a traitor in the eyes of the Order, if they ever knew, and in the eyes of Harry and Ron as well. But with Dumbledore swearing them all to secrecy, and with Harry out of commission and Ron not speaking to her, she was left remarkably short of options. She peered at the blond boy from under her lashes, considering. Of all people to tell, a Malfoy! But Dumbledore had always believed that Draco Malfoy was just a confused boy, a pawn being used by two very evil men. If this was more than a moment's fancy, if he really did mean what he said about wanting to change, then he deserved to have the chance that Dumbledore had asked them to give him.

"If you're wrong about him…." she murmured to the absent headmaster. She could almost see his blue eyes twinkle. Draco looked at her anxiously.

"It turns out there _is_ a way," she began cautiously. "But I need you to do something for me, first."

"What's that?"

"Change Harry back."

Draco looked stricken. "You know I can't do that." Hermione scowled and turned her back on him, poring over her book. "Look, it's not that I don't want to. I _can't_."

"What do you mean, you _can't_?" she demanded coldly.

"If I change him back, then people will realize that he hasn't been gone all this time. I'll be sent to Azkaban or at the very least, kicked out of Hogwarts. Either is as good as a death sentence for me right now. You'd have an excellent chance of getting expelled, too. You've been lying to everyone, you know."

"Don't remind me," she dismissed. "Besides, I'm sure we can explain it to McGonagall. She'd understand—"

"But would Harry? He hates me — there's no way he would let this pass. If McGonagall doesn't get rid of me, he or one of his fans would."

"Besides," he added, "he's far safer as my cat than wandering around as the Boy Wonder. At least the Death Eaters won't be looking for him in my room."

Hermione had to admit that he had a point. Several, in fact. "Very well," she agreed, knowing that Harry would never forgive her. "But you must promise to _never_ threaten me with him again."

"Deal," Draco said with a smile.

Wondering if she was making a huge mistake, Hermione pulled out the papers she had been working on before Draco sat down.

"Tell me, Draco," she began casually, delighting in the way the boy startled when she said his name, "have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

* * *

**Chapter 9 Summary:**

Draco gets a letter from his father, and volunteers to help Hermione hunt for Horcruxes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 10 — Snow Day**

There were many times over the next few days when Draco had to bite his lip to keep from falling back into his old acrid habits. Making life miserable for someone for seven years was a difficult routine to break. If Hermione noticed his struggle, she said nothing, treating him with a nonchalant friendliness that was far better than the fawning thuggery Crabbe and Goyle usually showed him, but which left him strangely unsatisfied as well.

The two teens spent their days in the library, undisturbed by inquisitive students. They would pour for hours over Hermione's notebook, trying to determine which ancient relic could be doubling as a Horcrux, and where it might be hidden.

"Hermione, I'm bored," Draco said one afternoon, stretching his long limbs and looking longingly out the window. "We haven't gotten anywhere yet."

"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed. "We can't stop now. Voldemort is getting stronger and we don't even have a list of all the possible Horcruxes yet!"

She smoothed down the edges of her parchment restively. Draco sighed and gazed out at the pristine snow-covered landscape. Harry pawed forlornly at the window, looking just as restless as Draco felt.

"Have you ever considered that Harry might be a Horcrux?" Draco spoke up suddenly. "I mean, it would make sense, wouldn't it? He's always boasting about that weird connection he has to Voldemort."

"Harry doesn't boast," Hermione said distractedly. "Although, I have to admit, the thought has crossed my mind."

She added "Harry" to the parchment she was staring at, along with a large scarlet question mark. Draco came over and stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders absently while he peered at what she had written.

"So we have Marvolo's ring, Riddle's diary, and Salazar's locket, all destroyed," he mused.

"That leaves something of Hufflepuff's, Ravenclaw's, and Gryffindor's," Hermione said, trying not to show how light-headed Draco's circling thumbs were making her feel. "We know that the Hufflepuff Horcrux is some type of golden cup. The only known artifact of Gryffindor's is his sword, which is definitely _not_ a Horcrux. I think it's safe to assume that Voldemort never got around to making a Gryffindor Horcrux."

"So, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and possibly Harry. I'm pretty sure that Nagini is a Horcrux, too," Draco said. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"That would make sense," she confirmed slowly. "When Nagini attacked Mr. Weasley, Harry said he saw it from Nagini's point of view. We all thought that was because Voldemort was controlling her, but if Nagini she hosts a part of Voldemort's soul, it would explain why Harry could see through her eyes."

"Which leads us back to why Harry has this connection in the first place," Draco added. "Didn't you say that Dumbledore told Harry that Voldemort had transferred some of his powers to him the night he tried to kill him? You know as well as I do that a wizard's power is indistinguishable from the wizard. The only way a transference would be possible is if Voldemort accidentally gave Harry a piece of his soul."

"An accidental Horcrux," Hermione gloomed, feeling her stomach lurch slightly as she accepted the truth of Draco's words. "Rare, but entirely possible when someone has split their soul as many times as Voldemort has."

Draco suddenly laughed, dropping back into his chair; Hermione tried not to look disappointed as the kneading of his thumbs stopped. "Oh, I can just see the look on all the faces of everyone who thinks Potter is so perfect, so golden. Wouldn't it be a riot if they knew he was harboring a piece of Voldemort's soul?"

"Yes, a real hoot. Tell me Draco, how are we going to destroy that piece of soul without killing Harry as well?" Hermione demanded.

Draco immediately sobered. Together, they mulled over the possibilities for another half hour, before Draco finally pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Enough Hermione, I'm fried. We're not going to get any closer to the answers thinking about this now. I'm going to go out and have some fun, and you are coming with me."

"No, if you're leaving, I need to work on my potions essay," Hermione demurred, packing away their papers in her bag.

Draco stared at her, aghast. "Hermione, you have three more weeks! Give yourself a break."

"Really, it's okay. I'll see you at dinner?" She brushed a stray curl out of her eyes.

"No, it's not okay." A wicked grin sprouted on the boy's face. "You are going to have some fun whether you like it or not!"

So saying, he snatched her bookbag from her hands and took off running, earning an angry shout from Madam Pince.

"Malfoy!" Hermione yelled, chasing him down the corridor. "You give that back this _instant_, do you hear?"

_Ooh, that boy_, she steamed, almost slipping on a patch of ice as she followed him out of the castle and onto the grounds. _Wait until I get my hands around his wonderfully pale neck…._

Suddenly a snowball hit the side of her head.

"Oh!" she gasped as crystalline ice seeped down the neck of her robe. She caught a glimpse of Draco as he ducked behind the corner of the castle.

"So that's how it's going to be, is it?"

Hermione smirked as she scooped up a handful of white and began to pack down snow.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco peered around the corner. Hermione was gone. Cautiously he ventured out, snowball at the ready. A clod of white burst against the back of his head.

"There you are!" he cried, ready to lob his weapon at the apparently defenseless girl. That's when the huge ball of snow she'd enchanted to hover over him fell.

"Not cool," Draco muttered, attempting to climb out of the mountain of snow pinning him to the ground.

Hermione couldn't help it. The sight of Draco covered in ice, his blond hair plastered at odd angles and looking utterly shocked was too much for her. She began to giggle, covering her mouth with her hands as she hunched over, consumed with mirth.

"Stay back," she warned as Draco finally worked his way out of the drift and stalked towards her, a large clump of snow in his hand. She put out her hand as if to stop his advance, still doubled over laughing. "I mean it," she giggled, and then shrieked as Draco pounced, shoving ice-cold snow down her shirt.

The two teens fell over, wrestling in the frigid powder, their hands flying as they rapidly tried to shove snow down each other's collars while avoiding the next sally. Finally they came to a stop, their faces red with the cold and panting heavily. Hermione discovered that she was lying half-sprawled on Draco, her face very close to his. Almost without knowing what she was doing she bent over, the tips of her lips touching his….

"We'd better go back inside," she said, pushing away from the boy and shivering with more than the cold.

"Yeah," Draco said, his lips tingling from where she had almost kissed him.

Unable to meet the other's eyes, the two youths walked back into the castle.

* * *

**Chapter 10 Summary:**

Draco and Hermione devise a list of possible Horcruxes, and have a friendly fight in the snow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 11 — Hogsmeade**

_Today is Christmas!_

The delight of that waking thought made Hermione sit straight up. In doing so, she knocked several presents to the floor that had been placed preciously at the foot of her bed.

_I've asked Dobby not to do that_, she rebuked, smiling as she stooped to pick them up. She deposited them on her covers and then sat cross-legged in her bed, surveying her small horde.

Of course, there would be nothing from her parents, Hermione thought sadly. She had modified their memories so that they didn't even know they had a daughter right now. Hopefully the day would come when she could take off the charm, but for now it was the only protection she could offer them.

There was, however, something from Mrs. Weasley. She opened the parcel to reveal a lovely pink cardigan. Hermione had never told Ron or Harry — mostly because she knew that some part of them always forgot she was a girl and would be shocked at her sense of taste — but she really did like the color pink. Swiftly she pulled off her nightshirt and donned the cardigan. It was deliciously soft. She must remember to thank Mrs. Weasley.

The next gift was from Ginny. She opened the box to discover a diary and a quill. There was a note inside.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Merry Christmas! I wish you could have come stayed with us at the Burrow, although I understand why you want to avoid a certain red-haired git (he's _my_ brother, so I'm allowed to say it, even if you won't), but even so, I miss my best friend!_

_Have you heard from Harry? I wonder if he even knows it's Christmas — but then, he's probably too busy trying to save the world to care (no Hermione, I am NOT crying). It's raining, that's all. Yes, in my room._

_Anyway, I hope you like your gift. It's a Validity Diary. I know you like to keep your feelings inside you, but lately you've seemed troubled. This will help you work things out. Write about whatever's bothering you in here — the quill will read down to the deepest levels of your heart and mind and will write out what you truly think. I've found it an excellent way to work through my problems — sometimes it shows me things that I haven't even realized I've been feeling!_

_I've got to run. Fred's just set the tree on fire. Hope you have a good holiday. Go out and have some fun!_

_Love,_

_Ginny_

Hermione smiled at the last sentence and put the note down, picking up the diary. She doubted that she would ever write in it — committing her deepest thoughts to someone else, even to a piece of paper, made her nervous. Still, it was a beautiful book, richly bound in black velvet with gold and scarlet embroidery across the front: _Property of Hermione Granger_. She cracked open the creamy pages and a small piece of paper fell out.

_P.S. I knew you'd worry, but Validity Diaries are unique in that the first person to lay hands on one is its "Secret Keeper," so to speak. You're the first person to actually touch this, so now no one can read it without your say-so. Not even Lavender Brown._

If that was true (and Hermione had never known Ginny to lie), the complexity of the magic that had gone into the book astonished her. She had no idea how Ginny had managed to afford it. Reverently, Hermione set the diary aside.

Green and blue wrappings encased a small box from Luna that when opened, revealed a pair of turnip earrings. The Weasley twins had sent Hermione a Patented Daydream Charm (_"I told you I'd give you one," _Fred wrote) and her final present came from Neville — a book on _Practical Potions_ with the note: _Thanks for all your help!_

There was nothing from Ron.

Keeping her thoughts carefully neutral on that subject, Hermione stowed away her new gifts and got dressed, choosing a black pleated skirt that complemented her new sweater perfectly.

Feeling determinedly cheerful, she skipped down to breakfast, humming a little under her breath.

"You look chipper this morning," Draco remarked as she sat down beside him.

"Well, it's Christmas," she said. "Isn't that reason enough?"

"Is it really?" he asked curiously. Only now did he seem to take in the holly wreaths and the large trees decorating the hall.

Hermione sputtered into her milk. "Wha — you mean you didn't know? Didn't you get any presents?"

"No," Draco replied without an ounce of self-pity. "Should I have?"

"I suppose not," Hermione said. She felt horrible. Not knowing that it was Christmas! _I should have gotten him something_, she realized. _He's been trying so hard to be good — I don't think he knows I've noticed how many times he's bitten off something harsh he was going to say. And he hasn't called me Mudblood once._

"I was planning to go down to Hogsmeade today," Draco remarked casually. "Would you like to come?"

"Why not?" Hermione replied. _Perfect!_ she thought._ I can pick him up something while I'm there — no, I can't. He'd think I was giving it to him out of pity and he'd be right. Ugh!_

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

The wind was blowing lightly as they stepped outside, sending small flurries of snow dancing across their feet. Since this wasn't an official Hogsmeade trip, they were going to have to walk the two miles into Hogsmeade village.

The journey passed quickly for Hermione and Draco, absorbed as they were in an amicable discussion about the magical properties of evergreens. Behind them, a black ball of fur leapt lightly from one footprint to another, disappearing in the drifts each time it landed.

Hogsmeade village at Christmas time looked simply magical. The triangular cottages and shops were iced with snow, appearing for all the world like giant gingerbread houses. Many sported huge holly wreaths or sheaves of mistletoe, and one even had fireflies enchanted to its treading that blinked on and off in unison.

"Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go?" Draco asked.

"Well, I do need some new quills and maybe some Secrecy Ink. I was thinking about translating our Horcrux notes so that no one else can read them…."

Draco let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed Hermione by the elbow, steering her down the street. "Just for today, can you _please_ forget about that? Believe me, no one wants to hunt those things down more than I do, but for once I would like a day that Voldemort can't touch. Okay?"

"Okay," Hermione said as Draco pushed open the door to Honeydukes Sweet Shop.

A mélange of delicious smells assailed them as soon as they stepped inside.

"Watch out!" a young witch cried as her son grabbed at a bin of Exploding Bon-Bons.

Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it. One just couldn't be worried in Honeydukes.

"Ooh, I love these," Draco said, popping a Pepper Imp in his mouth. Immediately a two-foot tongue of fire shot out of his mouth.

"Impressive," Hermione said stoically as Draco proceeded to sample several varieties in order to see which one would produce the bigger flame.

"See, I'm a dragon," he said, breathing a small flicker in her direction. "Draco, dragon; oh, never mind."

He gave a Pepper Imp to Harry, who tried to chew it, but found it difficult for his small feline teeth to work the smooth chocolate. The cat gave a small hiccup and tumbled backwards as a tongue of fire longer than he was came shooting out of his mouth. He sat there looking positively stunned as Draco and Hermione laughed.

Hermione immediately felt bad for laughing at her friend, even if he _did_ look funny rolling backwards like that. She looked around for a distraction to cover up her chagrin.

"Mm, chocoballs," she cried in delight, walking over to the spinning wheel that produced a new colored ball every two seconds. "Vanilla crème, caramel — I think I'm in Heaven."

They walked out of the sweet shop a long time later with several bags of candy each, Draco still occasionally spouting a small flame when he talked.

Hermione picked up the quills she wanted from the Quill Shop, and Draco tried to pull her into Dervish and Bangs in an attempt to get his hands on Re'em blood, which Hermione stoutly refused to do.

"At least come with me to Zonko's," he begged. "I owe a couple of your Gryffindor friends a treat…."

But when they got to Zonko's it was closed, its windows boarded up with a sullen, defeated air about its façade. Hermione didn't even have to squint in the dimming light to read the large white sign emblazed on the door:

_Zonko's — Out of business. Coming soon: Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes!_

"They've done it," Draco said in wonder. "Those red-haired maniacs actually put Zonko's out of business!"

"Did you ever doubt it?" Hermione laughed, heading down the street toward the Three Broomsticks. "Don't you remember their 'graduation?' Umbridge had a fit — she had to clean Grindelows out of the entrance hall for a month!"

The Three Broomsticks wasn't crowded, but it certainly had more people in it than either of the students had seen all day.

"Let's just order to go," Hermione said dubiously. "It's getting dark out and there's one more place I would like to visit."

"I'll get the drinks," Draco offered hastily. "Why don't I meet you outside?"

Hermione nodded and headed toward the exit, leaving Draco free to address the danger that was staring at him from the bar, a look of shock on its face.

"That was Hermione Granger!" the boy hissed, snatching at Draco's sleeve. Draco ignored him and signaled to Madam Rosmerta that he wanted two butterbeers.

"Didn't you hear me? That was Mudblood Granger you were talking to!"

Draco took the two steaming drinks in his hand and gave the innkeeper a silver sickle. "Whom I spend my time with is my own business," he said.

Blaise laughed lowly. "Only if you have a death wish! A mudblood, Draco? Your father will never forgive you for that."

"He is not going to know because you aren't going to tell him," Draco ordered.

"Who's going to stop me? You? Nice try, Draco, but your threats don't scare me. I've known you too long," the boy challenged, his arms crossed in front of him.

Draco let out a rueful chuckle. "No, you've never been afraid of me, have you?"

"'Course not, you're my man," Blaise said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Which is why I can't understand why you're spending your time with Granger."

"I'd try and explain, Blaise, but I'm not sure you'd understand."

"Is this one of Voldemort's plans to get at Potter?" Blaise asked directly.

"No," Draco said. He looked away.

"I see."

Tense silence filled the air between them for the several seconds.

"Very well. I'll keep this quiet for now and hope you come to your senses. But Draco," Blaise warned, holding up a finger as Draco beamed at him, "you'd better think very carefully about what's going to happen once school starts again. If you keep going around with Granger, people are going to notice and they're not going to like it. Not one bit."

"I understand," Draco said, simply happy for the moment that his secret was still safe. "Thanks."

Blaise watched as Draco left to join Hermione outside. His brows were furrowed and even the best Legilimens would not have been able to guess what was going on in his mind.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

"Why did you want to come here?" Draco asked as they climbed their way to the Shrieking Shack.

"I've just never seen this side of it," Hermione answered, not really thinking about what she was saying.

"_This_ side of it?" Draco's eyebrows shot up.

"Erm—" Hermione stalled, not sure what to say. They had reached the top. "Do you really think it's haunted?" she asked instead. Draco's eyebrows, if possible, rose even higher at the change of subject, but he accepted it for the time being.

"I _know_ it's haunted," Draco told her, leaning against the rail. "Third year, I got to talking about this girl and out of the blue a ghost just attacked me."

"Sounds like a poltergeist," Hermione smirked, joining him. Of course, they both knew it had been Harry in his invisibility cloak — her two friends had told her all about it. "I hear they only do that to people who really deserve it."

"Personally, I think it got jealous," Draco said. "See, this girl was really pretty, and I rather think she likes me. Well, of course she would — she's smart…"

"Oh, you!" Hermione laughed, swiping a handful of snow at him. She was glad that her face was already red from the cold, because she was blushing.

Draco caught her mittened hand in his. "I wanted to give this to you in person," he said, pressing a small box into it. "It belonged to my mother."

"Draco!" she breathed, opening the box and lifting out a thin silver necklace. Small pieces of crystal lay within each link, winking in the lamplight, and its pendant was a lustrous silver serpent twining around a wand.

Draco took it from her hands and began to fasten it around her neck. Though she obediently lifted up her hair so that he could see, Hermione felt she should protest the gift.

"But if it was your mother's, you should keep it," she said, pulling on the chain even as she spoke so that the pendant lay within the hollow of her breasts.

"She told me it was mine to give to whomever I thought worthy to wear it. I think if she ever had the chance to meet you, she would agree that I made the right choice."

Hermione didn't know what to say.

"Thank you," she replied at last. "And to think that I still haven't given you anything!"

Draco smiled. "You've already given me more, Hermione, then I believe you will ever know."

His eyes were shining. As if on cue, the moon broke through the wintry clouds and lit on the bundle of mistletoe in the tree above their heads.

"Merry Christmas," Hermione whispered. Cupping the back of Draco's head, she pulled him towards her and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

"MeOW," Harry yowled.

Hermione laughed, breaking away. "I think our chaperone wants us to leave," she remarked.

"I thought he didn't remember anything," Draco said irritably. "Be quiet," he ordered the cat out loud.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco captured her words firmly with his lips. They broke away at last.

"_That_," Draco told her, "was the best Christmas present I've ever had."

Placing her arm firmly in his, they embarked on the trek back to the castle, Harry following petulantly behind them.

* * *

Symbology: **For you that don't know, the serpent around a staff is an ancient biblical sign for healing; the gift of the necklace (whether Draco knows it yet or not) is a symbol of how Hermione is helping to heal the scars of his past and give him hope for the future.**

**And yes, I know in the book it was Harry and Ron at the Shrieking Shack with Draco insulting Ron, but in the movie it was Harry, Ron, and Hermione, so I've decided to keep it the way it was in the book but add in some unmentioned conversation that included an insult to Hermione in it. Consider it a bit of AU.**

* * *

**Chapter 11 Summary:**

Draco and Hermione go to Hogsmeade together, and each gives the other a special gift.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 12 — Danger and Discovery**

_SEVERAL DAYS LATER_

"I know what one of the Horcruxes is!" Hermione exclaimed, catching hold of Draco's arm before he had fully emerged from the Slytherin common room.

"I've been waiting all morning — how can you take so long to get dressed? Come ON!"

Hermione pulled Draco rapidly down the corridor, ignoring his desperate attempts to finish combing his hair.

"Hermione, slow down! Wait!"

The duo passed Gary Rutlige, the Hufflepuff boy, who was too busy sneezing to notice them as they ran by.

"I was trying to think of all the objects that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw that Voldemort might have used," Hermione babbled as they raced down the corridors. "And only one kept coming up in literature — her diadem."

"Her dia–what?"

"Rowena's diadem. Her crown."

Hermione came to an abrupt halt in front of the Ravenclaw common room. At least, that's what Draco assumed it must be. The door in the wall was just a bare plank of wood, with no way to get inside that he could see. Hermione lifted the knocker eagerly and let it drop.

"The man who makes me does not need me. The man who buys me does not use me. The man who uses me doesn't know he is. What am I?" a breathy voice asked.

"A coffin!" Hermione answered impatiently.

"What kind of a riddle is that?" Draco asked. "That's just morbid—" His words were cut off abruptly as the door swung open and Hermione pulled him inside.

"See?" she said, shoving him toward a marble statue at the base of a flight of stairs. Draco stumbled and almost fell, catching himself in the stone woman's arms.

"Tired of me already?" Draco complained, straightening up. Hermione wasn't paying attention.

"See? Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. This has to be it!"

"You think that the statue's a Horcrux?" Draco asked doubtfully.

"No, silly, the diadem. The real one! Wherever that may be," she said, slumping disconsolately down into a plush navy-blue armchair.

Draco leaned closer to the statue, eyeing the crown that the Hogwarts founder wore.

"What did you say it was made of?" he asked pensively.

"I didn't, but it's suppose to be made of silver. Goblin work."

Draco had the strange feeling that he had seen something similar fairly recently — within the last year, in fact. But he had tried so hard to bury those memories that he was having difficulty bringing them back up.

"Does silver change color?" he asked while he thought.

"Well, I guess so," Hermione answered, surprised. "Silver tarnishes over time, so it would become kind of bronzy after a while."

An old bronze-looking crown; he certainly hadn't seen it with Voldemort, and there was nothing like that in his father's house. He hadn't really gone anywhere last year; he was supposed to stay at Hogwarts and figure out a way to let the Deatheaters into the castle….

"I know where it is," he announced suddenly.

"What! Where?" Hermione cried, leaping out of her seat.

"The Room of Requirement."

"Are you sure?" she asked suspiciously. "I don't recall seeing anything like a crown in there before."

"It was in the Place Where Everything is Hidden. Believe me, I should know. I spent practically all last year in there."

Hermione was nearly bursting with excitement. "Do you know what this means? It's been destroyed! We don't have to worry about it anymore."

"I know that the Room of Requirement was destroyed, but what about everything in it?" Draco asked, hating to put a hole in her bubble of happiness, but feeling that he needed to bring up the point. "Are you sure no one tried to salvage anything?"

"No," Hermione confirmed. "I watched McGonagall destroy it myself right after the fight. She obliterated everything into Nothingness. There was no chance for anyone to take anything out of there; the diadem and whatever piece of Voldemort's soul it had trapped inside must have been eradicated."

"Well, that's the fourth Horcrux down. Congratulations."

Hermione sighed. "I do wish there was some way to check."

"I guess you'll know for sure once you take on Voldemort," Draco joked. Hermione didn't laugh, and in spite of his calm voice, Draco felt his heart give a small lurch at the thought. Another Horcrux down. That left three more between him and the day Voldemort became mortal.

He looked at the cat sitting contemplatively at his feet; and Harry Potter was one of the Horcruxes standing in his way.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

The moon shone brightly through the trees. The figure in the middle of the clearing shivered slightly. He hated to be out in the light like this. It made him feel so…exposed.

"Obscuro," he whispered under his breath. Immediately a dark cloud scuttled across the sky, eclipsing the moon.

"I was not aware that you had werewolf blood," a high-pitched voice noted callously. "A pity for one who has served me so faithfully before now."

"My Lord, please do not confuse me for one of those cursed canines," the man bowed, his face turning white. "I merely do not care for the company of the moon."

The snake that trailed after the second figure slithered across the ground, wrapping itself sinuously around the first man's legs. He tried not to shiver.

"An interesting aversion," Voldemort opined. "But not why I summoned you here. Why did you fail to inform me that Harry Potter has left Hogwarts?"

"Forgive me, my Lord, but I did not inform you because I am not convinced that he has," came the nervous answer.

"Explain."

"It is certain that Potter is no longer a student there; he has not been seen for several weeks. My sources have informed me that the Order is quietly looking for him — they have not heard from him at all. It is his friends that make me think he might not really be gone."

The Dark Lord was silent. It was impossible to tell what thoughts were transpiring behind his serpentine face. The man plunged on.

"Though the blood-traitor Weasley was noticeably upset at Potter's disappearance, the girl seemed relatively unconcerned. The three of them have been together almost since the moment they arrived at Hogwarts — it is inconceivable that Potter would have left without informing at least one of them of his destination."

"And you believe that this girl knows?"

"I think she must have at least guessed. If he truly had left the school, nothing would have stopped her and Weasley from joining him; Gryffindor "loyalty" and all that muck. Either he is in no danger — unlikely with your spies searching for him so adamantly and with the Ministry on our side — or he's still at Hogwarts."

Voldemort looked pensive. The twisting of his thoughts caused his whole visage to twist as well; a metaphorical contortion of the man underneath. "We must get our hands on this girl, although the problem of kidnapping a Hogwarts student is as troublesome as it ever was, even with Dumbledore gone. How simple it would make things if I could just obtain one of Potter's friends and force him to come to me! Unfortunately, the wards of the castle have been raised, and the one place that might have provided me entry into the school has been destroyed."

Voldemort gave a low hiss and the snake Nagini uncoiled from around his servant's body, returning to its master. "Torture is of course a valid option—"

"My Lord, I'm not sure that is a good idea," the man said. Voldemort looked startled at the interruption, and fingered his wand irritably.

"It is likely that if she does indeed know Potter's location, she's been enchanted not to reveal it. Trying to force it from her might destroy our only means of ascertaining that information."

Tap, tap went the wand in Voldemort's hand. "There are ways around such curses."

The man bowed. "Perhaps, but my Lord overestimates my skill."

"Then what do you recommend?" he hissed.

"Watch, my Lord. Wait. I feel confident that the girl will try to contact Potter. When she does, I will be there to catch him."

The hooded figure stood silent for a long moment, causing the man to fidget nervously. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. Lord Voldemort is a man of patience. I have waited sixteen years, I can wait a little longer. But be warned," he said, holding up a skeletal finger, "even my patience has limits."

The man bowed again, trying not to tremble at the underlying threat. When he looked up, Lord Voldemort was gone.

* * *

**Chapter 12 Summary:**

Draco and Hermione identify one of the Horcruxes as Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, and Voldemort meets with a Hogwarts informant.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 13 — Shivers and Chills**

Hermione rolled over in bed and grimaced. "Ouch," she muttered as she opened her eyes, immediately shutting them again. The bright mid-noon sun hurt. She tried to sit up.

"Big mistake," she mumbled as her head exploded with pain. She let out a deep cough.

"Great," she announced to the empty room, flopping back down onto her bed. "I'm sick."

She thought about doing homework but gave up on that idea the third time she fell asleep, spilling scarlet ink all over her sheets. _Curse that Gary Rutlige_, she thought bitterly, remembering the sneezing boy in the hallway. She cleaned up the ink with a wave of her wand and allowed herself to fall back asleep, dozing lightly in and out for most of the afternoon. Occasionally a house elf would come prod the fire, and she would rouse to consciousness, for once grateful of the servile presence that kept her warm in her bed.

"No thank you," she mumbled hoarsely when Dobby offered to bring her something to eat.

"Very well, mistress," the house elf said sadly, and disappeared.

How long she slept after that she didn't know. The hooting of an owl awakened her as it swooped into her room on the dying strains of the afternoon sun. It dropped something on her head, which abruptly bounced to the floor. She glared sickly at the menace, but it had already vanished out the window.

The scroll it had brought rolled to a stop beside her dresser. She reached for it, trying to move as little as possible; it was just beyond her reach. Suddenly, it disappeared.

"What in the world?" Hermione asked, pulling back her hand and sitting up. The sound of laughter filled the room as Draco Malfoy whipped off the invisibility cloak with a grin.

"Draco!" she coughed, pulling the covers up to her chin in surprise; she was very aware that she was wearing only a pale nightgown. "What are you doing here? How did you find me? What—"

"Slow down," he laughed, settling on the edge of her bed. "When you weren't at breakfast or lunch, I got worried. I wrote you a letter and then followed the owl when it came to bring it to you."

She shot him a questioning look as he pulled open her dresser drawer and set the scroll inside. "For later," he explained.

"I'm sorry I wasn't at lunch," Hermione said, smoothing the edge of her comforter nervously. "I'm afraid I've caught a rather bad cold."

"I thought that might be the case." Draco grinned and pulled a large goblet out from under his cloak. When he opened the lid, it steamed.

"I'm not really hungry," Hermione said, just as her stomach rumbled. Draco smiled widely.

"It's an old family recipe, guaranteed to cure all sorts of ills, from mumps to the measles to the common cold. I made it myself, so you can't refuse."

"Well, if that's the case, then I suppose I shall have to try it," she said. She reached for the mug but her hand shook so violently when she tried to hold it that Draco had to snatch it out of her grasp.

"Stop that, you're going to burn yourself. Let me," he said, pulling a deep spoon from out of his pocket.

Hermione was grateful that there was no one around to see Draco Malfoy hand-feed her his homemade soup. It smoked lightly on her tongue when she sipped, not enough to burn but hot enough that Draco had to blow on it softly first before giving it to her. She rolled the liquid in her mouth; its spicy flavor soothed her sore throat and warmed her insides most pleasantly.

"I feel silly having you feed me," Hermione complained, just to have something to say. In truth, she thought it was incredibly quixotic. _Who would have ever thought Draco Malfoy would be sitting on my bed, spoon-feeding me soup?_ she wondered.

Malfoy just smiled and went to give her another spoonful, right as Hermione was seized by a fit of coughing.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed as she accidentally knocked the spoon from his hand, causing hot soup to spill down her front.

"Allow me," Draco said with a wink, conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air with his wand. Gently, he began wiping off the soup, his fingers moving in slow, circular motions across her neck, along her collarbone, carefully capturing every stray drop….

Hermione felt her head spin; the room was suddenly very bright. Draco's fingers clasped her under her hair as he leaned in for a kiss. She turned away.

"Draco, I'm sick, remember?" she began.

The confusion in his face faded away. "Oh, is that all?" Sitting back, he pointed his wand at his throat. "Preventaro," he cast. "There. Now I'm protected from your little Muggle germs."

Hermione blushed. She felt his hands pressing against her waist through the comforters, holding her in place. She couldn't move anyways. His eyes held her transfixed.

"Draco—" she breathed. His mouth on hers silenced any protest. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her throat, his lips lingering dizzyingly on her flesh. Her hands clasped his hair automatically, drawing him closer to her. He nuzzled her lightly, sending shivers down her back and into her stomach.

Abruptly he stopped, and Hermione leaned shakily back in her bed. She did not think her limbs were strong enough to hold her upright, now that Draco had let her go. "You know, I might almost suspect you had spilled that soup on purpose," she whispered.

"Would that I had spilled it all over you," he returned, running a finger down her nose and leaving her head abuzz. "I would have made sure to clean up every…last…drop."

He pulled her toward him, kissing her again, softly this time. He caught her bottom lip in his, nibbling tenderly and drawing it with him as he pulled away.

"Goodnight," he whispered, picking up his broom, his eyes never leaving hers. With a flick of his cloak, he was gone.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Back in the Slytherin common room, Draco leaned against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. He was nowhere near calm yet.

A huge smile played across his face. Merlin, but that girl could kiss! He almost hadn't been able to tear himself away from her — part of him still wanted to go back and take her in his arms again and….

_No_, he told himself firmly, reminding himself why he had torn away. _Not this time. You will not ruin this._

He felt disgusted when he thought about the other girls he had known in the past, their easy surrender and his casual indifference to their feelings. Hermione was different, or else he was different. Maybe both. But he would never use her, never use _any_ girl, that way again.

Draco took a slow breath, steadying himself. He would control himself around her and if he couldn't, he would leave. Hermione was coming to mean too much for him to ever want to hurt her.

And there was something else — something that startled him to discover. When he held Hermione in his arms, it was not lust that spurred him. His feelings were much deeper, much purer than any coarse desire could be, and they made him feel amazing. They made him feel like a _man_. In that instant, he knew that even if he never went any further with Hermione Granger, he would be content because being with her was all that mattered.

Feeling as though he had just left behind some very black and twisted part of himself, he gave a silent thanks to the elf whose concern had inspired him to bring Hermione a cup of soup. He really must find a way to repay him.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

"Hermione, you're still in bed!" Ginny exclaimed in shock the next morning.

"Wha–what?" Hermione looked around her. Trunks were piled in the middle of the floor, and random bits of clothing were strewn everywhere as her returning roommates attempted to unpack. "You're back!"

"Of course I am. Are you feeling okay? It's almost noon."

"Yes, I feel fine now," Hermione said, and it was true. She felt marvelous.

She got out of bed and stretched. Suddenly, realization hit her. "You're back," she said, aghast. "Break's over, and I haven't even started on my potion's essay!" With something akin to a small scream, Hermione grabbed her satchel and fled out the room. A second later she was back, hastily tearing off her nightgown and throwing on some robes; she snatched the bag a timid Ginny held out to her and was gone once again, leaving Ginny to stare after her in wonder.

No one noticed Dobby come in to tend the fire, sporting a large grin and a very floppy hat.

* * *

**Chapter 13 Summary:**

Hermione gets sick, and Draco brings her some soup.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 14 — The Parts We Play**

"Get away from me, Mudblood filth," Draco glowered, picking himself up from off the floor. Hermione felt her cheeks grow scarlet. Slowly, she straightened up to her full 5'5" height and met the Slytherin's cold glare with one of her own.

"I'm sorry, does my presence offend you? Maybe you should watch where you're going."

"Your mere _existence_ offends me," Draco spat. "Touch me again and you will regret it."

He stalked away. Hermione watched him go for a long moment, and then gave herself a mental shake and began to pick up her books.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Ginny asked, hurrying over. She waved her wand and several broken ink bottles repaired themselves, their contents flowing back inside. She stuffed the bottles into Hermione's book bag and glared in the direction Malfoy had left. "He ran right into you! Trust a Slytherin to blame you for it."

"He's just being Malfoy," Hermione said wearily. She took her book bag from Ginny. "Come on, I have to get to class."

Paying attention in class nowadays was…difficult. Fortunately, Hermione had already read all the source material and had long since perfected the art of looking absolutely enthralled with a lecture while letting her mind wander somewhere else.

It had been three weeks since winter break ended. Three weeks since….

"Miss Granger! Could you please enlighten the class as to the proper wand movements for the _enlancium_ charm?" Professor Flitwick begged.

"Swish and twizzle-flick," Hermione said automatically. Professor Flitwick beamed at her.

"Thank you Miss Granger. Would you mind demonstrating for the class?"

Hermione got to her feet, well aware that behind her back, eyes were rolling as the perfect Granger prepared to perform another demonstration. She was tempted to do it wrong, just to see what would happen. But she couldn't bring herself to blacken her reputation like that. She _liked_ that people thought she was perfect. It made all the hours she spent practicing and studying worthwhile.

Truth be told, she liked the power it gave her, too. When Hermione Granger raised her wand, people thought twice about whatever it was they were going to do. Even Malfoy….

If Hermione's feather tore itself apart with a little more force than was strictly necessary, no one else seemed to notice.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Hermione was walking down the hallway lost in thought when a steely-hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside a deserted classroom.

"What happened to being careful?" Hermione complained as Draco shut the door. "If someone else had been out there…."

"There was no one else out there," Draco said. His eyes glittered dangerously.

"But there might have been," she insisted. "What's the point of pretending we hate each other if we let our carelessness ruin it?"

"Maybe I'm tired of pretending," Draco retorted. Hermione scowled at him stubbornly, but he was just as stubborn as she. "Maybe I'm tired of the slurs and the hate. Maybe I just want to take you in my arms and do this."

He kissed her fiercely, bitingly, with all the passion and feeling he had been restraining since second term began.

Hermione tried to resist. Really she did. She needed Draco to see how dangerous it would be if anyone found out about them. But at the moment, she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything but him.

"See," Draco whispered when they finally stopped, his lips so close to hers that they tickled. "You don't want to pretend either."

"I never said I _wanted_ to pretend. I just think it's safer this way. Can you imagine what would happen if people found out?"

"Are you afraid?" he challenged.

"Aren't you?" she countered. "Leaving off the fact that the entire school will want to hex you into another dimension, what do you think would happen if your father found out?

Draco's face darkened.

"So what are you saying — that we should just pretend to hate each other forever?"

"No," Hermione replied seriously. "Just until we graduate."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then both burst out laughing.

"It will never work," Draco said.

"No, I don't think it will," Hermione admitted. "But I really can't think of a better option. We could just stop seeing each other."

Draco turned suddenly serious. "Don't ever say that. I will never give you up," he vowed. Hermione felt herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze.

"Never is a long time," she demurred. "Who knows, tomorrow you might go back to thinking I'm just a worthless Mudblood."

"Do you really think I'd do that?"

"I hope not," she admitted. "But this still feels strange to me. Who'd have ever thought I'd be dating a Slytherin, however surreptitiously?"

She walked a little ways away from him and stood with her arms crossed, staring off into the chalkboard. Draco hesitated, and then went to stand behind her.

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. Abruptly, she turned around and kissed him with all the passion he had shown her earlier. "No, I don't regret it."

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked a short while later, noticing his absence for the first time.

"I left him playing with Pansy. They seem quite fond of each other."

Hermione laughed. "Truly? I wonder what they would say if they knew the truth."

"What indeed."

"We are never, _ever_, telling them," Hermione warned, not trusting the mischievous look in Draco's eyes.

"Why not? Stranger things have happened."

"But Harry and _Pansy_? They'd kill us."

"I don't know. I think they rather fit each other, don't you?"

Draco pretended to cower under the glare that Hermione gave him.

"All right, all right, I won't tell them. Yet," he promised with a wink. Grabbing Hermione by the shoulders and pulling her around, he kissed her on the mouth and was out the door before should could think of a retort.

"I can't let him keep doing that," she reprimanded herself. "He'll start to think he has the upper hand."

Hermione waited a minute in case anyone had been in the corridor and seen Draco leave, and then she, too, grabbed her bag and exited the classroom, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

* * *

**Chapter 14 Summary:**

Christmas break is over, so Hermione and Draco have to pretend to hate each other once more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 15 — Confrontation**

The day had been going so well.

"I can't believe you're upset over an 114%!" Ginny exclaimed. "I didn't even know Professor Aspen _gave_ extra points."

"Yes, but I missed one of the uses of black-widow hairs! I got the first fourteen but…"

"Hermione—" Ginny warned.

"All right, all right. I'll see you tomorrow!" Hermione called, waving goodbye. She didn't know why she still bothered expressing concern over academia to her friends. They just didn't seem to get it. Didn't they realize how important it all was?

Hermione sighed. She wished that her friends were a little more academically inclined. She loved them all dearly, but occasionally it would be nice to have a conversation that wasn't about food or Quiddich. A conversation that sounded remotely intelligent to anyone not a boy.

No, that wasn't fair. Draco, she had discovered, was extremely intelligent. He was top of the class after her — a fact that had never really penetrated before. She supposed she had assumed his father bought his grades just like he did everything else. Furthermore, Draco hadn't brought up Quiddich once.

He was waiting for her, she knew. They always met after she finished Arachnology, because it was the one class she didn't share with Ron. Ron had been cold and distant ever since he discovered Harry was gone, and just last week she had caught him rifling through her book bag. When she confronted him about it, he had just glared at her suspiciously and stalked off. She knew that he was just trying to find out if Harry was writing her, and part of her appreciated how much he cared for his friend, but the other part of her was distinctly annoyed. Once again, she was grateful that she had charmed her book bag to make any notes from Draco look like blank pieces of old parchment — she had more than a couple of them floating around in there and she could just imagine the scene if Ron found out. For the first time, she regretted helping Ron pull the grades to get into the advanced classes with her.

_Help is a relative term_, she thought uncharitably. _I pretty much did his work for him_. Of course, she had done the same for Harry too, but he had been so preoccupied with Voldemort that it was really the least she could do. It was like helping the Order in a way. And Harry at least had the decency to be grateful; Ron would grovel until she helped him and then he would treat her help like it was his due. How she had ever found him attractive was beyond her.

"Hermione!"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder and gave an inward groan. Ron was peeling himself away from a wall and was coming towards her. _Think of the wolf and you'll see his tail…._

"Yes?" she asked, a little suspicious. Ron was sporting a huge grin and his hands were spread wide in a conciliatory gesture.

"Nothing, I just thought we might talk," he said, sticking his hands in his jean pockets and standing at ease with a cocksure smile.

"We can always talk, Ron," Hermione said carefully.

"Not here. Somewhere private?"

Hermione was aware of a growing sense of unease. Everything about Ron's mannerisms and attitude was so…unRonnish. But she could not think of a good reason to refuse, and he was still her friend after all.

"All right."

She followed the youth away from the busy corridors, through a couple empty rooms, and into a small alcove that Hermione knew was usually frequented by kissing couples, but which was at the moment empty.

Hermione stood in the entrance, her arms crossed. "What do you want?" she asked, barely masking the impatience in her voice.

"Nothing. I just wanted to see you."

Hermione couldn't help it — she felt her left eyebrow rise in astonishment. "See me? You've _seen_ me for the last seven years."

"Yes, but, well I've missed you." Both eyebrows shot up now. She stared at him in frank amazement.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked seriously, stretching out a hand to feel his forehead. "Because you've basically been ignoring me for the last few months. If this is a new ploy to get me to tell you where Harry is—"

"This has nothing to do with Harry!" Ron snapped, the grin disappearing from his face. He brushed her hand from his forehead. "I just thought we could talk. Aren't we friends, Hermione?"

"Well, of course we're friends, but—"

"You know, I thought that after all this time you'd have seen the error of your ways. I was ready to give you another chance."

"Another chance? Ron, if you don't tell me what you're going on about in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to leave."

"I don't blame you, you know," he continued on, not really listening to her. "You were young and naïve. Doubtless you weren't ready for a real relationship. But school is almost over and I thought by now you'd have grown up a little and we could give ourselves another chance."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She didn't know how to respond. There were several retorts zooming through her head, none of which were utterable by bookish Hermione Granger. "What about Lavender?" she finally choked out. Ron had hooked up with the Gryffindor girl almost immediately after he and Hermione broke up.

Ron waved a hand dismissively. "She's old news. Any girl who would choose a git like Dean Thomas over me is not someone I'd waste my time on."

Somehow, Hermione resisted the urge to laugh. "Is that what this is about? Your girlfriend ditched you so now you want me back?"

Ron's face turned as red as his hair. "Don't be stupid Hermione. I'm offering you another chance."

"A chance at what? There were reasons we broke up, Ron, and all those reasons still exist. If anything, this conversation proves it. We are friends, Ron — let's not ruin what we have left."

"What if I don't want to be friends? What if I want us to be more than that?" Ron demanded.

This was going nowhere fast. "I need to go," Hermione said firmly, walking away. Ron moved to block her.

"Ron, I am going to count to three and then you had better be out of my way. One…" Before Hermione could stop him, he grabbed her by the shoulders and brought his lips crashing down onto hers. The suddenness of it took her by surprise. She couldn't breathe — he was taking all her air.

He released her and stepped away, surveying the stunned Hermione with satisfaction. "See, you've just forgotten how it was!" he smirked, confident that he had just wooed Hermione back with one fell kiss. The black dots that had been swimming before her eyes began to clear, and in their place Hermione saw red.

_SMACK!_

The flat of her hand connected with Ron's face with a force only hours of stirring potions could provide. Ron staggered back.

"Don't ever try to kiss me again, Ron," Hermione hissed, and walked out.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco tapped the desk impatiently.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He glanced at the clock. An hour past. Hermione had never been this late before. With a sigh, he jumped off the desk and was just about to leave when Hermione burst in through the door.

"Watch it!" Draco exclaimed as Hermione angrily threw her book bag across the room, narrowly missing his head. Hermione wasn't listening.

"That…that…weasel!" she seethed, storming into the room. Draco's eyebrows shot to the top of his head.

"How dare he insinuate…how _dare_ he — after everything he's said…after everything he's done…!"

"What did he do?" Draco asked, beginning to grow alarmed. He had never seen Hermione so angry. Her hair was positively crackling.

"Oh, nothing. To you it would be nothing. To anyone else it would be nothing. But to me…."

Draco grabbed her wrists. Hermione whirled to face him, her eyes blazing.

"Hermione!" he said sternly, holding her still. "Tell…me…what…happened."

"He kissed me," she scathed. "He told me he was giving me another chance at 'our relationship,' and then he kissed me."

"He kissed you?" Draco asked, stunned.

"Yes, if you can call it that! Honestly, who does he think he is?"

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, noticing for the first time her puffed lips and the bruises darkening on her biceps where Ron had grabbed her.

"Yes, I'm okay — it's just…oh! I don't know what to do. He's been my friend for so long but his behavior lately…and now this…. I just don't know what to do."

"Ditch the weasel," Draco said bluntly. "He doesn't deserve you."

"But he's been my best friend for seven years! He and Harry…but now Harry's a cat, and there's no one to defeat Voldemort, and I'm dating a Slytherin, and everything's just falling apart!"

Draco stiffened. "If dating me is as horrible as all that, I'll leave. You need not worry about _me_ anymore."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I didn't mean — I'm sorry Draco. I'm just so angry right now, I'm not thinking clearly." She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Draco's expression softened.

"Come here," he said. Hermione fell against Draco, and he gently wrapped her in his arms. As she listened to his heartbeat and thought about everything Draco was and everything that Ron was not, she felt herself grow cold.

"Kiss me," she demanded suddenly.

"What?"

"Kiss me."

Draco complied, gently at first, but Hermione was having none of that.

"What are you doing?" he asked as Hermione pushed him down into a chair.

"I am getting ready to make out with my boyfriend. My _real_ boyfriend," Hermione said, sitting down so that she straddled his lap. Draco gazed at her in astonishment — Hermione had never been this assertive before.

"Maybe I should ask the Weasel to kiss you more often, if it gets you like this," Draco said, placing his hands on her hips.

"Maybe," Hermione agreed dangerously. In truth, she felt nowhere near as bold as she appeared, but Ron's comments had stung.

Draco wondered if he should stop Hermione. He knew that she was taking out her anger with Ron on him, and while the means were enjoyable to say the least, he didn't want revenge on Ron to be the reason she wanted him. But then she was kissing him, and kissing him hard, and he found that he could really care less.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Ron walked quickly down the corridor, ignoring the strange looks that students gave him as he brushed brusquely by. He wished that Harry hadn't taken the Marauder's Map with him when he left — it would make finding Hermione so much easier.

When Lavender had dumped Ron for Dean Thomas, he had been angry. Then he realized that she just couldn't appreciate him properly — he needed to be with someone intelligent enough to recognize his allure. Today's meeting with Hermione had not gone as smoothly as he had planned. He winced; his face still hurt from the slap. He could almost commiserate with Malfoy for when Hermione had punched him third year. Almost.

Ron opened a door to a classroom. No one. Hermione wasn't in the common room, nor in the library, nor out by the lake. Ginny said she wasn't in her room, either. He wanted to find her and apologize for being such a git today and about Harry. He really did like her, come to think of it.

He was about to give up and go see if she had gone back to the common room yet when he opened one last door. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not the sight that met his eyes. There was Hermione, straddling someone's lap and kissing him with a passion and intensity that she had never shown Ron, not once in the entire summer she had spent with him at the Burrow. Then she shifted slightly and he could see the person she was kissing — see the silvery-blond hair and the expensive, tailored robes whose cost could feed his entire family for a year. It was Malfoy.

"You," he choked out, startling them both. "You and him…he and you…."

Panic flooded Hermione and she scrambled off Malfoy's lap. Even as she stood up, she felt cold anger replace the panic and she lifted her chin toward Ron defiantly.

"Yes. Me and him."

For a moment, furious anger pervaded Ron, and he raised his wand with a trembling hand so that for one incredible second Hermione actually thought he was going to try and _curse_ her; and then something inside him seemed to shatter. Shooting Hermione a look of such intense betrayal that it nearly broke her heart, he turned and dashed away.

* * *

**Chapter 15 Summary:**

Ron hits on Hermione, and later walks in on Hermione and Draco kissing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

_Hello my wonderful readers! I am so sorry this took so long to be posted. A host of projects interfered. Also, I had originally planned for this to be a longer chapter, but then I realized the plot line that I was developing was inconsistent with previous chapters, so I had to rewrite it._

_Please review. Your reviews are my inspiration to actually sit down and put fingers to keys, so to speak._

_Also, I've started drawing Harry Potter fan art for my stories. You can find it here (ignore the spaces): thekiliki. deviantart .com_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 16 — Revelation**

Hermione was nervous. Things just didn't make any sense. When Ron had burst in on her and Draco, she had expected the entire school to be abuzz with the news, if not within minutes, then at least by dinnertime. Yet it was one week later and not a whisper, not even a glance of suspicion trailed her steps. Instead, the school was absorbed with how Lavender Brown had ditched Ron for Dean Thomas, and if Ron turned red each time Hermione approached, it could as easily be due to her forceful rejection of his advances as it could be due to anything else. Once, she saw him touch his face as she passed by as though he could still feel the sting of her slap.

His reaction made Hermione feel triumphant and defeated all at the same time. Ron had been her best friend for years, but someone needed to put him in his place. She should have slapped him a long time ago. Still, he had been her friend, and she felt bad, because even if he hadn't been acting like a friend these last few months, truth be told, neither had she. But more than anything, she felt confused. Ron was acting as if he had never seen Hermione and Draco together at all. The relief and trepidation she had felt knowing they wouldn't have to pretend anymore had vanished, and what she felt in its place might well be called fear. Something was not right.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Draco sat on his bed, one leg swung over the edge, the other crossed beneath him as he leaned forward on his stomach, pouring over the scrap of parchment in his hand. _Ostendio_, he whispered, but nothing changed. No extra snippet of information, no name, no origin revealed itself to him beyond the message written in spidery black ink:

_You owe me_.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

"Well?"

"Huh?" Hermione sputtered, her thought processes broken. She blinked. She was in the library with her quill poised over an essay; the ink on its tip had dried a long time ago.

Ginny was standing next to her, looking bemused. "Can I borrow your copy of _Hogwarts, A History_? I need it for an essay and all the library copies are checked out."

"Um, sure," Hermione agreed, not really listening; her mind had already reverted back to the issue of Ron. Was just waiting to release the news when it would do the most damage? Or did he truly not remember?

"Well, thanks," Ginny said, waving good-bye. The brunette barely seemed to notice her departure. She shook her head — Hermione had been acting strange ever since Ginny had come back from winter break. What was going on?

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Hermione sighed and gave up on her essay. She had only written three feet, but she just couldn't concentrate. _I'll finish it tomorrow_, she thought, standing up. She quickly magicked her quill clean of the ink that had coagulated on the end and shoved all her supplies into her book bag, and headed out the door.

The way back to her dormitory seemed very long. More than once, she bumped into somebody and the third time this happened, she forced her thoughts into a small corner of her mind and resolved to concentrate on where she was going. She concentrated so hard that when she got back to her room, it took her a moment to notice that it was empty except for Ginny, who was sitting on Hermione's bed, idly twirling her wand.

"Ginny, what are you—"

Hermione broke off as with a flick of her wand, Ginny shut the door and transported a large dresser in front of it.

"Ginny, what's going on?" Hermione asked, alarmed.

Ginny just stared at her. "Were you ever going to tell me about this?" she demanded, picking something up from the comforter and shaking it in Hermione's direction. With a sinking feeling, Hermione recognized the scroll that Draco had sent her when she was sick. She had completely forgotten about it.

"That's mine," she said coldly, snatching it away from the redhead and shoving it back in her dresser drawer.

"I know," Ginny replied, just as cold. "I found it when I was looking for _Hogwarts, A History_."

"You had no business reading my mail."

"Oh, I didn't read it," Ginny laughed. "It wouldn't open for me. But I would be a fool if I didn't recognize the crest on the seal. Why do you have a letter from Malfoy in your dresser, Hermione?"

"I—" Ginny didn't miss the way Hermione's eyes darted around the room.

"I told Parvati and Lavender that Ernie MacMillan had been eyeing Parvati in Herbology. They're off to the library to make googly-eyes at him and no doubt giggle relentlessly." Ginny disliked the older girls nearly as much as Hermione did. "We have the room all to ourselves."

Hermione didn't say anything, just crossed the chamber and stood staring at a mirror without seeing her reflection. Many thoughts were crisscrossing through her mind and she was having trouble sorting through them all.

Part of her was angry at Ginny for finding her letter, but it wasn't Ginny's fault — she _had_ given the girl permission to use her book. If anything, it was Hermione's own fault for forgetting about the letter in the first place. Part of her was afraid. Ginny knew that she had a letter from Draco and could do anything with that knowledge. True, Ginny was her best girl friend, but that didn't mean she still would be if she learned the truth about Draco. Of course, Hermione had expected the whole _school_ to know the truth by know, not just her best friend, and it would be such a relief to finally tell somebody….

Her mind was far from made up as she turned back and sat on the bed, meeting Ginny's confused eyes with her own. _I suppose I can tell her_, she decided slowly, _and if she reacts badly, I can Obliviate her_. Part of her cringed at even contemplating such a betrayal, but she didn't have many options. She could just refuse to tell Ginny anything, but the redhead was even more curious than she was and would not stop haunting Hermione until she found out the truth. Hermione hoped that Ginny would not react badly.

"What do you want to know?" she asked at last, defeated.

A large grin split Ginny's face, but it was hedged by the caution in her eyes. "What's going on between you and Malfoy?" she demanded, getting straight to the point.

Hermione took a deep breath, and told her. It was a relief to tell somebody at last. Ginny sat quietly through it all, absorbing the information. Hermione didn't tell her everything — she could hardly explain her first few meetings with Draco without going into Harry's transfiguration, and the vow she had sworn was still in effect. She skimmed over how she had found Draco crying — that seemed too much like a breach of trust — but she described how things had grown between them over the break and how they had not stopped in the time since. She finally ended her recitation with Ron walking in on them kissing, and paused, waiting for Ginny to react.

"So Ron knows?" she asked.

"Yes. Well, at least I think he does," Hermione amended. "But he hasn't said anything about it and he's acting like nothing has happened."

"That doesn't sound like Ron," Ginny agreed, but other, more important questions than her brother's behavior were struggling to burst forth.

"So, is he a good kisser then?" Ginny asked.

"What! Well, yes, I suppose you could say that," Hermione answered, and then giggled, surprising herself. She started to blush. "Yes, he's quite good."

"Not to mention extremely hot."

"Ginny!"

"Oh, come on Hermione. Almost every girl in the school has had a crush on Draco Malfoy at some point in their lives. The air practically sizzles when he walks by. I just never thought that _you_ would be the one to end up dating him."

"Neither did I," Hermione murmured.

"So then why, Hermione? I had to live through a whole summer of my brother and you dating, and I can tell you that you were never like this. You're positively giddy!"

"It was different with Ron," Hermione said, searching for the words that would let her explain. "It was like everyone expected us to get together. I know he's your brother, but honestly, if he hadn't been one of my best friends, I don't think I would have ever looked twice. With Draco…." Hermione's voice changed. Where before it had been almost pleading, now it became wistful, taking on a dreamy tone. "With Draco, I'm _happy_. He's intelligent, funny, thoughtful, charming…."

"Everything Ron is not."

Hermione blushed. "That's not what I meant."

"Ha! You don't have to defend my brother to me. I've told him for years he needs to smarten up his act. But Ron is Ron and Malfoy," Ginny grinned wickedly, "is Malfoy."

Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it. The two girls beamed at each other in perfect feminine understanding.

The door started to rattle. "Hey, what's the big idea?" Parvati's voice complained from the other side.

The girls jumped off the bed with a start.

"Just rearranging the furniture!" Ginny shouted. "One sec."

She turned to Hermione with a wry smile. "I'll find out about Ron, don't worry," she said, lifting her wand to remove the dresser. Before she cast the charm, she turned back and gave Hermione a big hug. "Thank you for trusting me."

* * *

**Chapter 16 Summary:**

Ron hasn't told anyone about seeing Hermione kissing Draco, and Hermione can't figure out why. Draco receives a mysterious note. Ginny finds Draco's letter to Hermione and the two girls have a talk.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

_Thank you those of you who have reviewed my story! Your opinions and comments really make my day. =)_

* * *

**Chapter 17 — Excursion**

"Get up, boy."

Draco Malfoy blinked blearily. Through the crusty shadows of sleep he saw Professor Slughorn standing over his bed in a night robe. Draco groaned. Professor Slughorn in his sleepwear was _not_ a sight he ever wanted to see, especially right after a dream where the night robe had belonged to someone else.

"Malfoy, I said get up," Slughorn repeated. With another groan, Draco rolled over and sat up.

"What's the matter?" he drawled, stopping himself just before he would have reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Professor McGonagall wants to see you. Now."

Malfoy resisted the urge to make a pestilential reply and grabbed his robes off a rack, pulling them on over his pajama bottoms. There was no way he was going to change in front of Slughorn.

The two of them walked in silence towards the headmistress' office. The castle was eerily silent at night. You'd think that by seventh year, Draco would have been used to it, but the sound of his footsteps reverberating off the walls still gave him involuntary chills.

"Licorice Ink," Slughorn grumbled once they reached the guardian gargoyle. Draco stepped through the opening, which closed behind him with a low rumble. Apparently, Slughorn wasn't coming in.

Draco Malfoy stopped in front of a plain oak door. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder why he was being called here in the middle of the night. He pushed aside the dream he had been dwelling on so pleasantly and forced himself to focus on the here and now. Had he done anything worth being called here for? Surely it couldn't be for the Punching Telescopes he had left on the Astronomy Tower's roof — that had been two weeks ago. And Ernie Macmillan couldn't have known who had slipped the U-No-Poo into his drink. A thought came to him but surely it wasn't, that is, she couldn't have found out—

With something close to alarm, Draco Malfoy lifted his hand to the door and knocked.

"Enter," McGonagall's voice called through the wood, and Draco did.

Whatever he had been expecting, whatever he had feared, it was not this. This was a thousand times worse.

It was his father.

Lucius Malfoy rose when Draco came in, brushing back the black folds of his robes with a sweeping motion that he must have learned from Professor Snape.

"This is absurd. I refuse to give permission for my son to leave the castle."

"Your permission is not necessary, Mr. Malfoy, as your son is of legal age," Professor McGonagall reminded him calmly.

"_I _am the lord of Malfoy Manor. My wife's effects belong to me!"

"These do not!" a wizened voice protested roughly. For the first time, Draco noticed a small man with leathery white skin and pointed ears standing next to his father. He had been hidden behind the blond man's cloak, but now became visible as Lord Malfoy whirled on him angrily.

"Silence, goblin!" Lucius snarled, but the goblin would not be quiet.

"You have obstructed this process from the beginning! Your threats and your attempts at bribery are insulting in the extreme. If you continue to obstruct the law, I shall take the matter before the Ministry of Magic!"

"Enough, both of you!" McGonagall all but shouted. "Sit down!"

To Draco's surprise, they sat.

"Mr. Malfoy, thank you for joining us," McGonagall said, gesturing for Draco to take a seat in an empty chair. Draco did so, his mind working overtime to try and figure out what was going on.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you know why I called you here this evening?" Draco thought the use of the term "evening" was being generous, but he shook his head.

"Well then. Are you aware that when your mother died, you became heir to a sizable inheritance?"

Draco forced himself to break away from the incongruous sight of his father in regal black robes, a fuming goblin, and McGonagall looking harried yet calm in a blazing purple nightgown, and to focus on what McGonagall was saying. "An inheritance from my mother? How can that be? All of her possessions, both current and future, became the property of my father when the two of them got married."

"Very good, son," Lucius Malfoy said, getting to his feet. McGonagall ignored him.

"That is not quite true. Though there was some contention," — Here the goblin snorted loudly — "over the validity of the line of inheritance, it has since been resolved. Perhaps Master Rubeknuke can best explain."

The goblin got to his feet, crowing triumphantly, "The inheritance of which we speak is a legacy passed down through the Black family bloodline. It is not transferable by marriage, only by blood. You are the only heir to Narcissa Black, and thus the bequest falls to you."

"I warn you, if you pursue this, you will be making a serious mistake," Lucius Malfoy hissed, glaring at the goblin. Draco thought he saw his father finger his wand within the folds of his robes. The goblin looked unfazed.

"Your threats do not disturb me. What disturbs me is your uncooperation. If you persist, you will find _us_ most uncooperative in turn when you come to make your next withdrawal."

"Do not presume to threaten _me_, goblin," Lucius Malfoy spat. Without so much as a goodbye glance to his son, he strode out the door, striking his cane angrily against the floor as he went.

McGonagall let out an audible sigh.

"Master Rubeknuke," she said, rubbing the ridges under her eyebrows with her thumbs and sounding very tired, "was it truly necessary to have this confrontation at three o'clock in the morning?"

"We goblins prefer to work at night. It is wizards," he said scathingly, "who make us work during the day."

McGonagall's mouth tightened, and Draco could almost see her biting back a particularly acid retort.

"But surely you can wait until the morning to make the trip to Gringotts? I fail to see what could be so important as to force a trip tonight."

"This matter has been delayed long enough. We goblins have better things to do than mediate the inheritance of wizards. We will go now before that _man_ comes up with another way to impede this process."

Professor McGonagall got to her feet. "Very well. Mr. Malfoy, you will accompany Master Rubeknuke to Gringotts and then come straight back. I expect you to be in attendance for your morning classes. Good night."

Almost before he knew it, Draco found himself standing back in the outside corridor with the little white goblin at his side.

"Ready, boy?" the goblin asked. Before Draco could answer, the goblin clenched him by the arm. Draco felt a horrible, nauseating wave rush through his body, and with a small _pop_ the two appeared inside the marble halls of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

The place was deserted, its shadows held at bay by a few pallid torches. The young man had never seen the bank empty like this before. Always there were witches and wizards rushing in and out and goblins behind their counters studying the purity of gems.

"I thought you couldn't apparate out of Hogwarts," Draco said, rubbing his arm where the goblin had grabbed him.

"_Wizards_ can't. I am a goblin."

"So are goblins like house elves then? Your magic doesn't obey the same rules as wizards' magic does?" he asked, intrigued.

Without warning, Draco felt himself lifted into the air with tremendous fore. He cracked his head against a marble wall and came to dizzily to find Rubeknuke glaring down at him.

"Never compare us with those vile creatures again!" the goblin hissed, his face mere inches from Draco's own. "We are not slaves to eagerly do the bidding of wizards. We are goblins, and one day the wizarding world will be forced to remember this fact!"

Rage boiled inside Draco. Who was this goblin, to treat him in such a fashion! He reached inside his robes for his wand. It wasn't there. Between Slughorn and his dreams, he must have forgotten to grab it. What kind of wizard forgets his wand? He made a mental note never to put himself in such a vulnerable position again.

The goblin had moved off and was standing at the cavernous entrance to the Gringotts underground. With a warning rumble, a cart appeared out of the darkness.

The goblin climbed in. He did not beckon, but stared blankly at the boy until Draco picked himself off the ground and walked over.

While never appealing, the prospect of a Gringotts cart ride was made worse by Draco's injured pride. "So why don't you just apparate us to the vaults?" he asked caustically.

"Security," the goblin answered gruffly. "No one may know the precise location of any Gringotts vault."

"That would explain the bizarre cyclone you use for transport," Draco mumbled to himself as he climbed into the cart. "No one could possibly keep their bearings in this."

The cart ride was every bit as wild as Draco expected it to be. More so, in fact, because this particular goblin made no effort to cushion the sharp turns and sudden drops. _Of all the goblins I could have had_, Draco thought, clenching his teeth to keep them from clattering, _why did I have to get one that was grouchy?_

The ride seemed interminable, but at last it was over. Draco staggered out of the cart, bracing himself against its wooden sides. A sudden roar snatched his attention. "What's that?" he asked, alarmed, although he could see perfectly well what it was.

It was a dragon, its eyes milky white with just the faintest hint of emerald pupils. It had been lying in front of a door, but upon their arrival it had staggered to its feet and was now roaring in their direction, displaying two rows of dagger-like teeth.

A loud clanking erupted behind him, and the dragon reared back, its forelegs pawing at the air. To Draco's surprise, the dragon turned and retreated down the dimly lit tunnel. It was only then that Draco saw it was chained to the door that it guarded. The dragon was stretching its chain to its fullest in an effort to get away from the sound.

The noise stopped and Draco turned to see the goblin clipping a pair of shackle-like objects to his belt.

"What are those?" he asked, his gaze returning to the dragon eyeing them from the corner.

"Clankers."

Ignoring the dragon and the boy, the goblin reached into a pocket and pulled out a small silver key. As Draco watched him insert it in the door, he wondered how the goblins managed to keep track of where each key went — every door had at least a thousand different keyholes, and he knew that a mistaken entry meant imprisonment within the doorframe until someone discovered you were missing, which could be a very long time indeed.

The door opened silently, letting out a dank gust of wind as the air in the tunnel and the room switched places. The boy and the goblin stepped inside. With a snap of the goblin's fingers, light erupted on every side, illuminating the contents of the chamber.

"Whose vault is this?" Draco asked, repressing the urge to shudder. He had lived around Dark objects all his life, but some of the ones he espied in this room made his father's collection look amateur.

"This is the Black family vault. Bellatrix Lestrange currently holds a key to it. Narcissa Malfoy held the other, but as her heir, that key now belongs to you."

"I see. So why am I here again?"

The goblin pointed to a box sitting high on a shelf. Draco frowned. "And how am I supposed to get that?"

The goblin snapped his fingers again and the box drifted down off the shelf. About nine feet off the ground, the spell stopped — Draco caught the box before it could hit him on the head.

"_This_ is what you dragged me here in the middle of the night to see?" he asked, fingering the box with loathing. It was black with silver edging. On its lid was the Black family crest.

The goblin didn't answer. Draco searched for an opening, but there wasn't one. A thought struck him, and he placed his hand over the crest. A tingling sensation bloomed in the palm of his hand, spreading out along his fingers and up his arm. The box snapped open.

"Thought so," Draco said, picking up the paper that was inside. He scanned its contents stoicly, and then replaced it in the box. As soon as Draco had closed it, the box flew away from his hands and resettled itself on the shelf. He couldn't believe the goblin had dragged him out of bed for _that_.

"Although you are now co-owner of this vault and all the objects herein, Mrs. Lestrange _requests_ that you inform her should you desire the use of any item," the goblin said, "as many of these objects are ancient and valuable and she would like to ensure that all proper care is taken with their handling."

So Aunt Lestrange didn't want him in her vault. Well, that was fine by him — he didn't want anything to do with the objects the Black family had found fit to collect.

"Please inform my aunt that I have no interest in the contents of this vault and would as soon leave the charge of any such…objects…to her expert care," Draco said, his voice dripping with scorn.

He strode out the door, the goblin following behind him. Draco could have sworn he heard the goblin mutter, "I'm a goblin, not some bloody owl."

Draco had almost forgotten about the dragon, which glared at them sourly but did not budge until the goblin and the wizard were safely back in their cart and the clankers stowed away. Then it moved back in front of the door, its chain lisping heavily behind it.

The ride back was just as long as the ride there, and the rate at which Draco's head was bobbing up and down had as much to do with the lateness of the hour as it did with the turbulent ride. The goblin apparated him back into the Hogwarts corridor they had disappeared from before, shoved the silver key into Draco's hand, and then apparated away without even a goodnight. Clutching the key spasmodically, Draco stumbled down the hall, pausing only once to kick away a nosy Mrs. Norris. He practically fell through the Slytherin common room entrance, and weaved his way wearily through the dungeon cells until he reached his room. Never before had the silken sheets seemed so inviting — he did not even pause to undress before collapsing on his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

**Chapter 17 Summary:**

Draco attends a predawn meeting where he learns about an inheritance from his mother. Against his father's wishes, a goblin takes Draco to Gringotts Bank and shows him the Black family vault.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 18 — Vision of Truth**

The fire cracked and Hermione frowned, burying her chin in the palm of her hand.

"But how can he not remember?" Hermione protested, puzzled and a little relieved. "That's not exactly something someone would easily forget."

Ginny shrugged. "How should I know? I just asked him what happened after you told him off, and he said he went looking for you to apologize, but he couldn't find you anywhere and gave up."

"Could he be lying?"

Ginny snorted. "Hermione, if you know my brother at all, then you know he's as good a liar as he is a Quiddich player — once in a while he'll get lucky, but the rest of the time he's just pathetic."

The girls had been sitting for the last half hour on the thick red chesterfield in the Gryffindor common room, debating the riddle that was Ron and Draco.

"So what does Harry think of your dating Malf — I mean, Draco?" Ginny asked shrewdly.

"He doesn't know," Hermione said. "And if he did, I'm certain he wouldn't understand." After all, how could an obliviated cat comprehend a human relationship?

"Have you really not heard from him, or are you just saying that?"

"I really haven't heard from him."

"Oh." The lovesick girl's face fell.

"I'm sure he's fine, though," Hermione hastened to emphasize, wishing she could reassure the girl with the truth. "I mean, he's _Harry_ after all."

"That's what worries me."

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

The dream gnawed at him. It began the same way each night — a pale silver mist at the edge of his unconsciousness, creeping over his vision like a faded memory. When it cleared, he could see himself sitting at a high table. The Dream Draco was looking at something in his hands. He glanced up, and Draco saw that his eyes were the same shade as the silver mist, the irises whirling turbulently as if disturbed by many winds. He held up the object in a toast.

"The Cup of Truth," his voice echoed throughout the hall, "makes all its contents bitter. A lie is a sweeter delicacy."

"A lie does not satisfy," Draco said, his voice sounding tiny by comparison.

"Yet you weave your life with them like a master confectioner."

"Not anymore," he said.

"Oh?"

The scene changed, the hall replaced by a stone corridor. Draco watched as his image rounded the corner and knocked a preoccupied Hermione off her feet. Though he couldn't hear their conversation, the vituperation passing between the two was easy to see. Besides, he knew what had been said — they had acted out that scene only yesterday. The view switched again, and now it showed a black cat watching the couple kiss with malaise.

"That's different," Draco argued.

"Really?" the Dream Draco queried. "Your life has been a lie for so long that you cannot even recognize Truth when it lies in the palm of your hand."

The Dream Draco opened his other hand as he spoke, revealing an ancient silver key. It looked vaguely familiar.

"Those who cannot learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. What lessons have you learned, Draco?"

The voice was changing, becoming older, frailer — it was no longer Draco's voice, but familiar nonetheless.

_I've got a job to do._

_Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy._

That sage voice, so carefully nonjudgmental, speaking the words Draco dreaded, yet so desperately needed to hear.

_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer._

"Dumbledore?"

The boy at the table smiled, and spoke again in the dead professor's voice.

"Those who cannot learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. What lessons have you learned, Draco?"

He thought for a moment about all the lessons he had learned from his father, including the most recent one when he had killed Draco's mother. He thought of his teachers, and of his unfinished homework. He thought of Hermione, and of the man he had known as Professor Dumbledore, the only man who had ever believed he was different from the boy everyone thought him to be.

"Friendship," he answered quietly. "Trust. Truth."

His vision seemed to crack at the corners, fracturing into his view like a broken phial, or like a spell rupturing into a thousand pieces.

"The cup of Truth is a bitter drink. A lie is so much sweeter." Again, Hermione flashed before his eyes, her image shot through this time with fissures. "Are you willing to give all that up, for Truth?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Truth cannot be changed. It is, whether I will it or not. Truth may be bitter, but sweets rot you away. I want the Truth."

"Then face the Truth within yourself."

And Draco did.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

He woke, exhausted.

He knew what he had seen, what he now knew he hadn't wanted to see, because it would mean the end of this time of peace. The last few months had been so blissful, so needful after a life of repression and hate. But if he loved Hermione (and he did, he realized that now), then he could delay no longer. They must finish what they had set out to do, even if it meant that when things were over, they'd either be dead, or she would never want to see him again.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

"Hermione!"

An urgent whisper propelled the girl awake. She sat up in bed, blinking blearily against the night. There was nothing there.

"Hermione."

The voice again. She knew that voice. This time the air shimmered as Draco let the invisibility cloak fall away.

"How'd you get up here?" Hermione asked softly, sleep making her momentarily stupid. "Boys can't come up the girl's staircase, and you don't know our password."

"I flew," he replied, looking at her strangely.

"Oh, yes. Of course."

"Hermione, I know where the fifth Horcrux is."

_That_ woke her up.

"You do? Where?" Parvarti snorted and flopped over in her bed. Hermione immediately lowered her voice. "Where is it?"

"In my vault at Gringotts."

Hermione gaped at him.

"Look, I'll explain on the way, only — are you coming? We've only got a few hours left before dawn."

She nodded. "Yes, of course I'm coming — but how are we going to get in? Gringotts is closed at night. Why don't we just go tomorrow or something — it's the weekend after all."

"Believe me, you don't want my aunt Bellatrix to know we've been in the vault. As for how we're going to get in…let me worry about that."

"I need to get dressed…" Hermione murmured, getting out of bed and picking her robes off her trunk. A thought struck her, and she turned around. "No peeking."

Draco looked impishly crestfallen. "Oh, all right."

Quickly, Hermione tore off her nightgown and drew on her robes. A small charm, and her hair braided itself neatly into a plait and away from her face. She was ready.

Draco was already standing on the open casement, peering out into the night. In the moonlight, his face looked strangely alien, all planes and angles. For the first time in months, she could not tell what he was thinking.

"Let's go," she said, climbing onto the broom behind Draco and wrapping her arms around his waist. Glory, but she hated flying.

"Hang on tight," he whispered, and kicked off.

She was falling, _they _were falling. Then suddenly, they weren't anymore. Hermione opened her eyes to see the ground rushing by in a dark blur beneath them.

This was completely different from riding a hippogriff or a thestrel, or even the few times she had mounted the rickety old school brooms during her first year. The wind streamed by her face, tearing small wisps of hair out of her braid. Draco was solidly in front of her, and some part of her knew that if she let go, she wouldn't fall, and if she did, he would catch her. But why would she let go when she could hold onto him, burying her cheek against his shoulder and rubbing her nose in the place where his hair met the nape of his neck?

"Stop that," he told her thickly. "I can't think."

"Good," she said. "That's my department."

He laughed at that, a low, throaty sound, and turned and kissed her quickly before retargeting his broomstick. She didn't know how he compassed their destination, and she didn't care. He was obviously aiming towards something, and she was content to go along for the ride.

* * *

**Chapter 18 Summary:**

Hermione learns that Ron doesn't remember walking in on her and Draco. Draco has a vision of the Cup of Truth and realizes where the fifth horcrux is. Draco and Hermione leave for Draco's Gringott's vault to steal the horcrux.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

* * *

**Chapter 19 — Dark Exploits**

They touched down in a dark London alleyway.

"Where are we?" Hermione whispered, peering around the trash-lined passage.

"We're behind Diagon Alley. Give me a minute."

Hermione watched as Draco rooted around in the garbage with his boots, surreptitiously blasting away several small heaps of litter until he found an old grating in the ground with a small crest carved into it that no amount of wind or rain could erode.

"This is the back entrance to my vault," Draco explained as he beckoned Hermione over. "The paper Rubeknuke made me read gave the instructions for how to get inside."

"But I've never heard of Gringotts vaults having back entrances," Hermione marveled.

"That's not surprising: my family is not the most trusting. If I recall the stories correctly, my ancestors killed the goblins that helped them build these back doors. They wanted to be able to access their vaults without anybody knowing they could. I doubt that anyone outside my family is even aware this entrance exists."

"You make it sound as if this was done a long time ago, but that grate is far too modern!"

"Every decade or so, someone from my family comes by to ensure that the entrance stays current to the times. Here we go."

Draco tapped the grate twice and murmured a low incantation. Obediently, it snapped open.

Hermione peered into the slimy sewer hole it revealed with distaste. "Not that I doubt you, but are you _sure_ this is the right place?"

Draco took her hand. "Just hold onto me and you'll be fine. Ready? One, two, three, JUMP!"

Hermione gasped as they plunged into the sewer, but no splash of rancid water engulfed her body, nor did greasy sludge scrape onto her arms. Instead, she was falling, falling as she had always feared she would fall, and this time Draco could not possibly catch her; they were both going to die—

The rushing in her ears suddenly stopped, and once again Hermione felt firm ground beneath her feet.

"There now, that wasn't so bad," came Draco's placid comment.

Hermione just glared.

"Lumos."

The light of Draco's wand revealed a large vault carved from black obsidian; jeweled goblets and small mountains of gold decorated the floorscape, and shelf upon shelf of repulsive treasures threaded the walls.

"Is that…skin?" Hermione asked, unable to tear her eyes away from a horrible multi-tan tapestry.

"Uh, huh. I think that was the Beaumont clan."

Hermione shuddered, and let go of Draco's hand.

He didn't notice. He was too busy scouring the walls for the cup from his dreams — the cup he had seen the last time he was here without realizing what it was.

"There it is."

Hermione followed his pointing finger to the gleam of gold just visible upon an upper shelf. Excitement coursed through her, enflamed by adrenaline left over from her fall.

"I'll get it!" she cried. Hermione braced herself on a lower shelf and stretched up on her tiptoes, reaching for the golden handle.

"Hermione, don't!" Draco shouted, just as her fingertip snared the handle. Pain lanced through her hand, and she jerked it back with a cry, causing the cup to tip over the side and strike her cheek.

Pain blinded Hermione as she collapsed onto the ground, and then Draco was there, wiping away her tears and apologizing over and over again for not warning her, that he should have known about the charm.

"What was it?" she gasped, the act of talking causing a fresh wave of agony in her face. Draco stroked the burn on her cheek and murmured an elementary healing spell; immediately, the pain faded away into nothing.

"Sometimes when a wizard has something very important they want to keep safe, they'll charm their vault so that no one but the vault's owner can touch its contents. If anyone — even a goblin — touches something inside, they'll get burned just like you did, and the treasure they touch will multiply. I should have guessed that Aunt Bellatrix would have used such a spell, when she had a Horcrux to protect."

"Multiply?"

Hermione gazed, aghast, at where the cup had fallen to the floor. Now there lay fifty such cups, all identical.

"Oh, no! Now we have fifty Horcruxes!"

"Only one of them is real."

"But how will we ever know which is the right one?"

"Touch me," Draco commanded. "As long as you're touching me, the spell can't affect you. See?" He placed his hand on Hermione's shoulder, and she saw that around one cup, a silvery aura was pulsing gently, indicating the true treasure.

Draco let her go and walked over to where the cup lay, picking it up with distaste and stowing it away deep inside his cloak pocket.

He offered Hermione a hand up. She took it and pulled herself to her feet, arriving a little too close to Draco. Inexplicably, she found herself flushing with a heat that had nothing to do with a spell.

"So you want me to touch you?" she whispered, placing a palm upon Draco's chest with great daring. Beneath his shirt, she could feel his heart starting to race.

"Careful, Granger," he whispered back. "You can't run away from me here."

Hermione shivered as Draco's breath tickled the hairs on her head. Relief at having obtained a Horcrux, combined with the excitement of leaving Hogwarts at night without permission and the terror of her fall and the burning cup, made her bold. "Who says I want to run away?"

Draco growled low in his throat and pushed Hermione backwards until she was pressed against a table. The expensive wood bit into Hermione's back, but she paid it no heed as Draco ducked his head, his lips trailing along her jawline and making her shiver again before he turned his attention to her mouth—

A loud _CRACK_ made them leap apart.

"Crucio!" a cruel female voice cast. Draco pulled Hermione out of the way of the vivid blue light and shot off a stunning spell that was immediately blocked.

"Accio broom!" he shouted. An explosion of splinters showered them both as his aunt's next curse struck the Nimbus.

Casting counter-curses behind his back, Draco pressed his palm against the vault door; it gave way before them not a moment too soon. Bellatrix's death curse erupted against the opposing wall.

It was impossible to navigate the tunnels of Gringotts unless one had a goblin — everyone knew that. But Draco Malfoy did not plan to navigate the tunnels.

"Come on!" he shouted, dragging Hermione toward the dragon that guarded the vault; the noise had awoken it and it was shaking its head in groggy vexation, its tongue lashing out as it blindly searched for the source of the disturbance. Hermione drew back instinctively, but then hastened forward, jumping over its tongue and climbing after Draco onto the dragon's back. When it came down to Bellatrix and a dragon, Hermione knew which one she preferred.

"Relashio!"

The chains on the dragon snapped apart under the force of Draco's spell. With a roar of comprehension that it was free, the dragon leapt forward, tumbling through the tunnels until the passageways grew wide enough for it to stretch its wings. With three great beats, it was airborne, heaving ungracefully through the darkness like a falcon just learning to fly. With a bone-rattling screech, it launched itself through the roof of the tunnel, causing rocks and dirt to tumble down onto Draco and Hermione, almost knocking them from their precarious perch on the dragon's back. An instant later, they were free and soaring into the bluing sky of a London dawn.

* * *

**Chapter 19 Summary:**

Hermione and Draco break into the Black family's Gringott vault to steal a horcrux, and end up dueling Bellatrix Lestrange.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter, except those that clearly aren't from J.K. Rowling's stories. And since I expect anyone reading this by now to be a complete HP aficionado, I'm sure you'll know which ones they are.

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_I'm back!_

_So you may be wondering why I've been gone so long. The reason is…[drum roll, please]…I was writing a book! It's called_ Robin: Lady of Legend_, and it retells the tale of Robin Hood with one major twist — Robin Hood is a woman!_

_I'm super-excited that it's finally been published. You should be super-excited, too, because now I can finally return my attention to this fan-fic._

_Happy Reading!_

_(P.S. If you're interested in checking out my book, you can find it on your country's Amazon site. Until then, enjoy this update!)_

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**Chapter 20 — Return to Hogwarts**

"I hate to think of how many memories the Ministry will have to modify," Hermione mused as she tilted her face up to the sun.

"Considering that the Ministry is full of Death Eaters, they might not even bother. A dragon soaring over England is a boon for them — fear and panic among Muggles, and all that."

Draco stretched luxuriously out upon the sand, his clothes nearly dry after his tumble off the dragon's back and into the lake. He could have magicked himself dry, he supposed, but both he and Hermione had been so exhausted upon swimming to shore that they had crawled onto the sand and immediately fallen asleep. They had not awakened until late that afternoon, by which time their clothes had been almost dry anyway, so it had seemed pointless to use magic to finish the job.

"Do you think that your aunt recognized us?"

"I'm pretty sure she didn't. If I'm wrong, we'll know soon enough."

Hermione bit her lip. "Can she hurt us?"

"Not while we're at Hogwarts. At least, I don't think she can."

"That's reassuring."

"It should be. There's no place safer than Hogwarts."

Hermione started. Draco's words echoed strangely in her head, as though she had heard them once before. Somehow, she felt comforted.

"But how did she know we were there?"

"When you touched the cup and activated that spell, it must have alerted her to our presence. It was my fault, I should have known better."

"You can't blame yourself," Hermione reassured him, but it was clear from Draco's expression that he did. She hesitated for a second. "Can I touch it?"

"The cup? Or are you referring to the other thing you were touching in the vault, because if you are, my answer is a definite yes…"

"The cup, you dolt. Can I touch it?"

"The spell on it is only active within the confines of the vault. The cup can't hurt you here."

"Considering that it hosts a piece of Voldemort's soul, I'm not so sure it can't," Hermione retorted, but she reached out and accepted the Horcrux from Draco.

The cup felt cold in her hands and seemed to pulsate against her skin, the metal gleaming wickedly in the evening sun like a dragon's eye.

"The Cup of Truth," Draco muttered, looking at the Horcrux with an unidentifiable expression on his face, "makes all its contents bitter."

"What do you mean by that?"

But Draco didn't answer and instead turned away, his eyes closing off and concealing something from her for the first time in months. Hermione wanted to press him on the matter, but she restrained herself. She would ask again later, when they weren't both still so scared.

"We should be getting back," she murmured.

Without speaking, Draco pushed himself to his feet and pulled something out from inside his robes.

"Accio broomstick," he whispered, and stared into the sunset until a small black speck appeared in the sky, growing gradually closer until it swooped down to hover in the air a few feet in front of Draco. It was an old housewife's broomstick, knobby and slow and in no way comparable to his Nimbus. With a grim look at the broom, Draco climbed on; Hermione followed suit.

This time when she wrapped her arms around Draco's stomach, Hermione couldn't suppress a shiver. Every muscle in Draco's body was taut, and he seemed to quiver in her arms like a violin string.

"Are you all right?" she asked hesitantly.

"I will be," he told her. "For now, just hold me tight."

With a mighty push of his legs, Draco shot the broomstick into the sky, doing his best to blame the chill he suddenly felt on the wind brushing against his clothes.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

It was almost midnight when they arrived at the castle. Ducking down between the darkened turrets, Draco weaved his broomstick through an open window on the eighth floor, startling Sir Cadogan from his rest.

"What's this? What's this!" the knight grumped, scrambling to his feet with the help of his sword. "How dare you disturb my slumber, you unprincipled knaves! I challenge you to a due—" His tirade was cut short by a tremendous yawn, and Hermione seized the opportunity to cast a spell.

"Confundo!" she ensorcelled. Sir Cadogan gazed around in confusion for a moment before sinking back down onto the ground by his sleeping horse.

"Nighty-night," Hermione offered with a smile. "And good-night to you, too." She gave Draco a kiss on the cheek and began to descend the steps.

"Wait," Draco called, halting her. "Suppose my aunt _does_ know we were the ones who stole the Horcrux. There's no telling what she might do. We should destroy it while we still have the chance."

"But how?" Hermione asked, turning to face him. "I don't know how to blast something into nothingness, like McGonagall did to the Room of Requirement."

Draco hesitated. "You told me once that Potter destroyed Riddle's diary with a basilisk fang. Is the basilisk still down in the Chamber?"

"Yes…yes it is!" Hermione exclaimed, beginning to grow excited. "Come on!"

She tugged Draco down the stairs, almost making him trip over his broomstick as she led him to the first floor.

Upon entering the hallway, they both instinctively fell silent and slowed their pace. The corridor was dark, with only the light of the moon filtering through the occasional window to illuminate the walk space. The sound of their footsteps seemed to echo loudly through the hall, and Draco had to stop himself from peering over his shoulder to look for Mrs. Norris.

"Here we are," Hermione whispered, and Draco looked up to find himself standing outside the one place he had never wanted to return to — Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Here?" he gulped. Hermione opened the door, and he reluctantly followed her inside.

The white marble floor was stainless, as though it had never been covered with blood — his blood — as if last year had never happened at all….

"You're back," a high, girlish voice spoke up suddenly, shocked. "I had hoped you had died. I mean, not _died_ died, but it would have been nice to have had some company. _You_ understand."

"Hello, Myrtle. It's nice to see you again," Draco greeted her uncomfortably. Myrtle's eyes narrowed.

"Why are you walking around with _her?_" she asked, glaring at Hermione in accusation.

"Well, Hermione _is_ my girlfriend—"

"You have a girlfriend?" Large tears welled up in Myrtle's eyes, and fell to splash invisibly upon the floor. "I might have known!" With a loud wail, Moaning Myrtle launched herself into the nearest toilet and hid there, sobbing noisily.

"Smooth," Hermione remarked, completely unperturbed. She walked forward until she was facing a sink, the one that Moaning Myrtle had told him never worked.

"There," she pointed. Draco followed her finger to the snake-like symbol etched onto one of the taps.

"Oh no!" Disappointment flooded Hermione's face. "I just thought of something — neither of us speaks Parseltongue! We can't get in!"

"Relax," Draco said. "I may not speak it, but I can mimic it."

"You _can_? That's right, you did it once before…I remember now! But how do you know the right words?"

"When you hang around Voldemort, you pick up a few things. _Ssshaarshhhe._"

With a loud rumble, the sink sank into the floor, revealing a cavernous pit.

"After you," Draco said with a bow. Hermione gave him a small, sarcastic shove.

"You're such a gentleman."

She lowered herself to the ground and prepared to slide into the tunnel.

"Hold on a moment!" Draco cried, "I have a better idea."

A few minutes later, the two of them flew into the large stone atrium that was Salazar Slytherin's secret lair.

"Wow," they both gasped, seeing for the first time the enormous stone statue of the Hogwarts founder and the decaying remains of the mile-long snake. Draco drifted down toward the basilisk's head where bone-white teeth protruded from its jaw like the life-seeking fangs of a giant piranha.

Hermione hopped down from the broomstick, her skirt catching for a moment on one of its knobs. Draco unlatched the cloth, holding onto it for a second longer than was truly necessary, a small smirk playing upon his lips.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, blushing slightly. "Really, Draco. Here?"

"So says the girl who wanted to make out in the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione blushed again and walked over to the decaying skeleton. Being careful not to touch the tips of any of its teeth, she broke off one long, curved fang.

"Now what?" Draco asked.

"Give me the Horcrux."

He watched as she set it on the ground and readied the fang over the cup. Her hand was trembling.

"Here," he said. "Let me help."

Wrapping one arm around her shoulder, Draco covered her hand with his own. Together, they plunged the fang into the metal cup.

A sound like a thousand screaming banshees rent the air and the cup began to writhe, jangling against the floor like a living thing. Draco plunged the fang into the cup again and smoke poured out of it, making them choke and their eyes burn.

"Servant!" the banshee voices yelled. "How dare you betray me! You will pay with your life, with your soul—"

Draco and Hermione plunged the fang into the cup one last time, and it shattered. A force like a hot desert wind swept through them, and they couldn't breathe as harsh claws seized at their lungs, strangling them with a searing heat so intense they thought for sure they would burn alive…and then it was gone. Just like that. Gone.

"Whew," Draco gasped. "That was…something."

Hermione burst into sobs and kissed him once, hard on the mouth, before burying her face in his shirt. Eventually, her shudders stopped.

"Feeling better?"

"Much." Hermione attempted a brave smile, and Draco kissed her again, gently, before helping her to her feet.

Once outside of the chamber, a sense of euphoria began to overtake them as they walked through the Hogwarts halls.

"We did it!" Draco enthused, keeping his voice low. "We actually destroyed a Horcrux!"

"You were terrific," Hermione said, smiling just as broadly.

"Quiet!" one of the portraits snapped. "Don't you know we're trying to sleep?"

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

Before they knew it, they had arrived at the Gryffindor common room.

"Well, goodnight," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around Draco one last time. Turning to the picture of the Fat Lady, she gently rapped on the frame.

"Hmm, what? What is it?" the Fat Lady demanded grumpily. "What's the password?"

"_Fidelus Siempres_."

"Incorrect."

"What?"

"That's incorrect. Do you know the proper password?"

"But that is the password! I used it just last night."

"Last night it was the password. Tonight it is not. Do you know the proper password or not?"

"I don't."

The Fat Lady glared at her then and deliberately shut her eyes, muttering about students who had the ill-manners to make her wake up for no reason.

"What do I do now?" Hermione asked, turning to Draco in confused distress.

"You could always sleep in the hall," he couldn't resist teasing.

She shuddered. "What if a teacher walks by? Think of all the points I would lose for Gryffindor! Oh, what to do, what to do?"

"Relax!" Draco remarked, taken aback. "Surely you know I could just fly you to your window." Relief broke out over Hermione's face. "Or…"

"Or?" she asked.

He gave her what he hoped was a light grin, though he felt terribly self-conscious. "Or you could spend the night with me."

Hermione was silent.

He held out his broom. "Come on," he said, "I'll take you to your window."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I want to stay with you."

Now it was his turn to fall silent.

"I'm not asking anything of you — you know that, right?" he spoke up at last. "If you come, I promise no expectations will come along with you."

She gave him a shy smile. "I know that. That's why I said yes."

"Then let's go," he declared with more confidence than he felt, and taking her arm in his, led her away from Gryffindor Tower.

-:-+-:-+-:-+-:-

"Here," Draco murmured, throwing the invisibility cloak over Hermione as they neared the Syltherin common room. "I don't think anyone will be awake, but it never hurts to be cautious. Hold onto my shoulder."

Obediently, Hermione place one hand upon his bicep, and he covered her hand with his own for a moment before striding forward once again. When they reached the blank wall that marked the entrance to the Slytherin common room, he stretched forth his hand and laid it upon the stone. Instantly, the wall opened.

"No password?" Hermione queried softly.

"It recognizes me by my pulse," he whispered back. Hermione shook her head at the extent of Salazar Slytherin's fixation with Blood.

True to Draco's prediction, the common room was deserted. Hermione hadn't paid too much attention to it the last time she had been inside — she'd been far too concerned with rescuing Harry to pay much attention to her surroundings. Now she gazed around, curious.

It was beautiful in a strange, slightly cold way. The fireplace looked as though it were made of pure silver, of a grade high enough that it would never tarnish. The candelabra and torch brackets were also of silver, and the candles were a bone-white coloration, rather than the pleasant yellow tallow that was used so prevalently in Gryffindor Tower. The chairs were lined with dark green velvet, and the tables were made of blackwood. The floor was marble, highly polished. Everything looked new and pristine. There were no half-empty bottles of Butterbeer here, no Canary Cream wrappers or crumpled up pages of homework. It was hard to believe that an entire dormitory-worth of students used and shared this one common room.

"Are you coming?" Draco asked, turning to look where he thought she was; Hermione had taken her hand from his shoulder, and as a result he was staring in the wrong direction.

"Sorry," she apologized, and hastened back to his side. But when they reached Draco's room and he opened the door for her, Hermione couldn't resist teasing him just a little, and asked in his ear: "Are you sure that I don't have to sign up first?"

Draco felt the hairs on his neck rise at her invisible, breathy whisper, and at the memory of the last time they had been in his room. "I think I can fit you in," he murmured back.

"You'd better."

Hermione let the invisibility cloak fall to the floor as Draco shut the door. Harry, who had been curled up sleeping on the bed, gave an irritated yawn at their arrival.

"Hello to you, too," Draco grumbled. "This is _my_ room after all, you little feline."

Harry just stuck his small, pink tongue out at him, and proceeded to wash himself.

Hermione felt a wave of panic suddenly seize her. It had been so easy for her to accept Draco's invitation, but now that she was here, what was she supposed to do? Climb into his bed? Wait for him? What if he wanted to change? And she didn't have any pajamas….

Draco looked just as awkward as she did, and a rose tinge began to bloom on his cheeks. For some reason, the sight of his blush helped set Hermione at ease.

"So are you going to stand there all night, or are you coming to bed?" Hermoine asked him lightly, kicking off her shoes. "Some of us do have class in the morning."

Draco gave a snort. "Come on, Hermione, you know you already have the lesson plans for memorized; you've probably even started on the homework! How you talked the professors into giving you assignments ahead of time is beyond me. _Why_ you did so is completely unfathomable."

"So I'd have more time to devote to—"

"—us?" Draco suggested hopefully, climbing into bed.

"Voldemort," Hermione finished firmly, climbing in beside him.

"Ew, Hermione, you could do so much better."

"You did not just go there, Malfoy."

"_Malfoy?_" Draco asked, turning to face her. "So I'm Malfoy again, hmm? Wicked, charming, vivacious, Malfoy?"

"Vivacious?"

"Very vivacious."

But he didn't move to kiss her, and Hermione felt oddly disappointed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He didn't pretend to play dumb.

"I don't want you to think that just because we're here…together…in my bed…I'm expecting—"

"Just shut up and kiss me, _Malfoy_," Hermione ordered with far more bravado than she felt.

Draco complied, but his eyes kept darting toward the door.

"What is it now?"

He sighed an admission. "It's Pansy. She had this really awkward habit of checking in on me and lately, she's been rather persistent. I've put a spell on the entrance so she can't get in past the door, but I can't lock her out entirely."

Hermione frowned. "Why not?" she demanded, cross at the thought of another girl checking up on her boyfriend.

"What do you mean, why not? You can't lock student doors at Hogwarts."

"Oh, that old charm. I found a way around it long ago."

"Really?" Draco asked with interest. "Perhaps you should demonstrate."

"Perhaps I should." Hermione lifted her arm, her wand hand trembling slightly. With a locked door, there would be no chance of interruption. Her heart started to race.

"Wait!" Draco said.

If someone had been standing in the hallway just then, they would have wondered at the black cat marching stiffly out of the room with its tail in the air, and the door shutting firmly behind it.

* * *

**Chapter 20 Summary:**

Hermione and Draco return to Hogwarts, destroy the Cup of Truth, and get ready to go to bed.


End file.
